Good Kid
by hailingstars
Summary: Peter copes with Aunt May's decision to sign over custody to Tony and leave the city.
1. don't eat the shellfish

A/N: Just a few things to note before I get started with this. I don't know how long this story will end up being. If the chapters seem a bit weird, it's because I'm treating each chapter as it's own story, just set in the same universe, if that makes sense. Updates might be a bit slow until I finish up my last series, but this came to me and I wanted to post it! Hope you enjoy!

* * *

1\. Don't Eat the Shellfish

Once May told him not to eat shrimp.

The memory wasn't as clear as he wanted it to be, or needed it to be, actually.

He just remembered May's face, her smile as she guided him by his little hand away from the snack table and back over to where the rest of the kids were playing. It was a nice memory. May didn't smile at him like that anymore. To do that, she'd have to be around.

They had been at a party when she uttered those words, but it wasn't anything like the one Peter was attending currently. Mr. Stark's party was grand, with people society labeled as important spread out around all around the penthouse, chatting and gossiping and moving from person to person with grace and sophistication. The party he'd attended with May and Ben years ago had just been with regular people, with a football game blaring on the TV, in one of their neighbor's apartments in Queens.

It was as far as that memory went.

The finer details were blurry. For instance, he couldn't remember why he wasn't allowed to have the shrimp.

He figured there was probably a reason he heard May's voice in his head as one of the waiters approached him and stuck a tray of mini crab melts in his face, offering him one. Somehow, those two events were connected, and if he hadn't snuck some shots of vodka every time Mr. Stark wasn't paying attention to him, which was pretty much all the time, he might've been able to remember how they were connected.

Mr. Stark, apparently, was done with him. He dressed him up in some suit that's more expensive than a normal person's car payment, showed him off for the first half an hour, then left him to mingle on his own. Peter wasn't sure who he was supposed to be talking to. He was youngest one there by at least a decade.

"Sir," said the waiter.

Peter blinked him back into focus. He'd forgotten he was standing there with a tray of food, and it took Peter a few seconds to realize he was talking to him. People with trays called him sir now. He still wasn't used to it.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

He nodded, and the motion was enough to knock him off balance. He stumbled around, before using the wall to steady himself. That was another thing he couldn't remember properly. Just how many shots he had thrown back.

The waiter brought the tray closer to Peter's hand and lowered his voice. "Perhaps something solid for your stomach… to soak up anything you might have consumed by… accident? Before Mr. Stark finds out?"

Peter looked around until he saw Mr. Stark. He was holding court near the windows, with Pepper on his arm, and more than a few people listening to him speak. It seemed doubtful the man would notice, but he took one anyway. Just to be polite. The waiter was trying to help him, and these days, Peter could use all the help he could get.

He thanked him, and the waiter went on his way, zigzagging through the crowd to pass out food to people who were allowed to be drunk.

His gaze fell down to the crab melt in his hand, and he thought about May again, about how she wouldn't want him to eat it, about how she wasn't here, wasn't even in New York, or in his life at all.

The decision to eat it wasn't so much of a decision as it was an impulse. There was food in his hand, and it belonged it in his mouth. He didn't regret it. Not at first. It had the most amazing taste, like spite and revenge rolled up into a flavor that melted on his tongue, but just like spite and revenge, it backfired.

Time was blurry, so he didn't how much of it ticked away before his stomach twisted with sharp, pointy flares, or before the room tilted and spun, or before his chest tightened. He made eye-contact with Mr. Stark for just a few seconds, just long enough to see his confused, worried expression, to see him drop his glass of alcohol as Peter's knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor.

He clutched his stomach, and gasped, or tried to gasp.

His breathe wasn't coming.

Mr. Stark got to him fast and was on the floor with him fast. He grabbed onto his shoulders, attempting to push him up into a sitting position and trying to get him to make eye-contact. "Peter. Pete, what's wrong? Talk to me."

He couldn't speak. The words weren't coming just like his breath wasn't coming. It hurt. Not being able to breath, and his ears hurt, too. Mr. Stark was shouting at the world as it spun around and around and around while they stayed stationary on the floor. Something cold and metal was strapped around his wrist, Mr. Stark kept shouting at FRIDAY to diagnose his problem, and then, without a warning, Mr. Stark stabbed with in the arm with something sharp.

He wheezed, but this time, breath passed through his throat.

"That's it," said Mr. Stark. "You're fine. You're fine now. Just breath with me."

Peter took another breath, then another, and each one got a little bit easier, each one let more air fill his lungs. He could feel Mr. Stark breathing in time with him. Somewhere in all the chaos, he had positioned his back up against the wall and Peter's back up against his chest. Between the alcohol and the almost dying, he didn't have the energy to feel properly embarrassed, even as he looked up and saw the rest of the party watched them silently. Pepper and Rhodey stood the closest, but for some reason, he couldn't hold their gaze.

He adjusted his eyes down and saw the discarded epi-pen lying next to his foot.

"Pete…" Mr. Stark still held on to his shoulders, tight, as if the crab melt was ready to physically pull him away and out of his hold. "Why do you smell like a brewery?"

"I-I can exsplain that –" started Peter, but he couldn't finish the rest of his excuse.

The crab melt and the alcohol were making a comeback. Before he could stop himself, before he could jerk away from Mr. Stark's grip, he threw up. Everywhere. He aimed his head down to the floor, and Mr. Stark repositioned his hands, rubbing his back while Peter puked all over the floor, all Mr. Stark's shoes, and on one of the legs of his insanely expensive suit pants.

"Jesus kid," said Mr. Stark, once all the puking was over.

Peter wiped his mouth off with the sleeve of his suit jacket.

Everything was already ruined anyway.

* * *

Peter made it back to his bedroom, thanks to the support of Rhodey, who did most of the walking for the both of them. Pepper opened the door to his room, and the lights came on steadily and automatically as they entered. They were too bright. They hurt Peter's eyes, so he shut them and could only feel himself being gently pushed down to sit at the end of his bed.

When he popped them open next, Rhodey kneeled in front of him, untying his shoes, and he caught Pepper as she disappeared into his closet.

"I threw up on Mr. Stark," said Peter. He felt like he needed to inform War Machine about this, even though he'd had a front row seat.

"Don't worry about it," said Rhodey. He took one shoe off him and began untying the other, something Peter was incapable of doing himself. "Just think of it as karma for all the people he's thrown up on."

The other shoe came off and Pepper emerged from his closet with pajamas. She laid them out on the bed next to him, and slowly, the realization broke through his drunken haze. He couldn't untie his shoes by himself, he definitely couldn't get out of his vomit stained suit by himself, or into his pajamas without assistance.

He wanted to express his annoyance about that, about his limbs being completely useless to him, but instead he covered his ears and said, "The lights are too loud."

"Fri, dim the lights, please," said Pepper, and lights adjusted down to a level that made Peter's eyes happy.

Pepper and Rhodey, as it turned out, were both excellent at caring for drunk, sick people, even if Peter wanted to die from embarrassment as Rhodey helped him out of the now ruined suit and into a t-shirt and pajamas bottoms. It didn't seem fair. That these strangers were tasked with taking care of him like this. That his aunt handed him off to strangers and he was supposed to be okay with it.

He wasn't okay. He was stupid drunk and his stomach felt weird and he was miserable.

Rhodey helped him into bed, and Pepper let the comfort fall over him. He stared at them, Rhodey as he placed a trash can by the bed and Pepper as she put two bottles of water on his nightstand. She wiped his hair off his forehead, like May used to do, and followed Rhodey to the door.

"Feel better, Peter," said Pepper. "Call us if you need anything."

Her and Rhodey left, and Peter shut his eyes tight.

He didn't feel better, not on the inside, but at least he was comfortable enough under the thick, heavy covers to drift away into a restless, half-sleep. One that was terrorized by the same moment replaying over and over again.

He was little again. His eyes barely saw over the table, but he could see enough to see a strange food, one he never saw before and therefore one he had to try. His hand reached out. His hand was intercepted by May, who led him away from the food. They stopped walking, and she knelt down to meet his eyes.

Her eyes were blank. They held no emotion, and that scared him. He tried to pull his hand away, but May's grip was too strong.

"I'm going to leave you now."

Peter's eyes flew open and he shot up in bed, looking around in his giant, dimly lit bedroom. It always took him a few seconds to realize he wasn't in Queens.

"I'm allergic to shellfish," said Peter.

That's what Aunt May was supposed to say. That's what she said in his memories, but he thought his drunk nightmare version of her might be more realistic than history.

"Yeah, no shit."

Peter turned his head to the side. Mr. Stark was sitting up in his bed, all the way on the other side, with his back up against the headboard and a tablet in his lap. His bed in his penthouse bedroom was big, he still seemed like he was miles away.

"Mr. Stark?" asked Peter. He sat up and used his elbows as props, then cringed. It felt like something was growing on his tongue, and whatever it was, it tasted awful. "W-what are you doing in here?"

"Someone's got to make sure you don't choke on your own vomit in your sleep," said Mr. Stark. His voice was louder than the lights were earlier, and it made Peter's stomach hurt. "… god, I'm turning into one of those parents."

Peter frowned. He didn't know Mr. Stark thought of himself as his parent. He just figured he saw himself as some generous benefactor stepping in to prevent Peter from being thrown away like unwanted garbage to the foster care system, like someone who would watch from afar in a hands-off sort of way.

"Don't ever to do that to me again," said Mr. Stark. "And for future reference, crabs are shellfish, so are shrimp and lobster and krill –"

"Mr. Stark," said Peter. He knew it was rude to cut him off, and he couldn't believe he did, but his voice was starting to take a lecture tone. Peter couldn't hear it just then. His head pounded too much. "Just please don't list them all. I knew, I know, I just forgot I knew."

"Well that's not entirely surprising since you drank half your body weight tonight," said Mr. Stark. "Have any more food allergies I should know about? Your aunt should've –"

Mr. Stark stopped mid-sentence. It was a subject they avoided. Neither of them had brought it up in the entire two weeks Peter's been living at the penthouse, but now that it was on the table and he thought about it, it was completely ridiculous for them not to talk about her. She was the underlining factor, the reason he was there, and his biggest motivation for trying to drink his misery away.

Peter looked up at the ceiling. It was so high. Higher than the ceiling back at the Queens apartment.

A different family had moved into it already, so even in his mind, Peter stopped referring to it as home. This bedroom in Mr. Stark penthouse wasn't home, either. Home was long gone. Ben died and took a piece of it with him to the grave, then May left the city without him and took the rest with her. She was selfish. She didn't share.

"I didn't know you were taking this so hard," said Mr. Stark. "You could've said something. I could've-"

Peter didn't need any more prompting to spill his grief. "She just… gave me away."

The transaction happened quickly, but that day was forever imprinted in his head. He woke up, carried his bags to May's car, endured a silent, awkward car ride to some government office where Mr. Stark and lawyers waited for them. He sat in a room at a large oak table and listened absentmindedly to the sounds of pens scribbling across dotted lines.

Then May left. There were no hugs or goodbyes exchanged. Just his last remaining relative walking out the door, and Peter endured another silent, awkward car ride with Mr. Stark sitting next to him in the backseat while Happy drove them to the penthouse.

"It's not like that, Pete," said Mr. Stark. "She… had some stuff to figure out, and while she's figuring it out, you're staying with me."

He knew that was a lie. Figuring stuff out implied she was coming back, but there would had been no reason for lawyers and custody papers if she planned on doing that. Peter sat up fully and tilted his head at Mr. Stark.

There wasn't any need for lawyers and custody papers if he planned on letting him go or getting rid of him when he inevitably did something idiotic. Security, at least, existed here, and maybe he work on making a new home, one that didn't involve Ben or May.

"She won't even answer when I call," said Peter.

"She changed her number," he said. "She thought it would make the transition easier for you."

It was the word transition that hit him in a weird way. His eyes darted around his new bedroom and thought about Mr. Stark referring to himself as a parent, thought about May refusing to talk to him. This was permanent. May wasn't coming back, and this was the way it was going to be for now on. Logically he knew it the day the papers were signed, but it hadn't settled in and became real until that moment.

And he was so tired, and so hungover. He couldn't stop the tears from coming, so he turned around on his stomach and buried his face in his pillow.

Mr. Stark was at least kind enough not to point out that it was completely obvious what he was doing. Instead, the bed shifted under moving weight, and Peter felt a hand on his back. He needed more than just a hand, though. He lifted his head, stared at the man through his tears, then hug-tackled him. Mr. Stark accepted him. Wrapped both arms around him, and Peter cries into his chest, instead of the pillow.

"You're gonna be alright," he told him. "Staying here won't be so bad, and you're only stuck with me for three years, then you can go off to college and throw your own parties, dance with a few girls, or boys, or more than dance, if you know what I mean –"

"-Mr. Stark –"

"-and get drunk the fun way, around people your own age, instead of us dinosaurs."

Peter forced out a laugh. His head was still buried and his hands are still hanging on the back of Mr. Stark's shirt as if his life depended on it. He didn't seem to mind, and that was a little confusing to Peter. He never expected Mr. Stark to act like this when he moved in here, never expected him to act like a father, or even like he cared.

"I'm sorry I ruined your party."

"Eh, it was boring, anyway." He ran a hand through Peter's hair. "You should go back to sleep. You'll feel better in the morning. Well except your head. That's still gonna hurt like hell, and your stomach probably won't be much better off."

Peter groaned as he broke away from Mr. Stark and settled under the covers. He spared a look at Mr. Stark before shutting his eyes but didn't bother questioning him as to why he wasn't leaving. Peter was sobered up past the point of throwing up in his sleep. He didn't mention that, either, and when the sun came up the next morning, he did feel a little bit better.

Everything seemed a bit brighter, and not just because his eyes still didn't like the light. His body felt beat up, achy, his head dull, but Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts waited for him in the kitchen, with things they insisted cured hangovers, and for the first time in the two weeks, he felt like he could work on making this his home.


	2. california part 1

Peter was lost in space.

He soared through one galaxy or another at the speed of light, or at least, that's the way it felt. Just his mind was lost and swimming in the stars, and he preferred it that way, preferred shutting his brain off and watching Star Wars movies over and over again to having fully operational thoughts. Those were the kind that led to fully operational breakdowns. He was done with those, done with crying and freaking out over something completely beyond his control.

He was fine. Clearly. Never better. As long as he could sit there on the floor in the theater room, back pressed up against one of the chairs and head tilted slightly up, staring at the giant screen that stretched across the wall. Peter was fine. As long as he never had to look away from the movie and back at real life.

Unfortunately real life planted himself between the screen and Peter. Real life was rattling off, talking frantic and fast, saying things that were very clever and snarky he was sure, but they were also things Peter couldn't be bothered listening to. He shifted his head, trying to see around the interruption that would not go away.

"Hey," said Mr. Stark. He snapped his fingers in front of Peter's face, and took a step to the side, once again blocking his view of the movie. "Dumbo. Listen up."

Peter craned his neck, attempting to see around him.

"Fri shut it off," said Mr. Stark.

The screen went black, and Peter was forced to look up at Mr. Stark.

"How long has it been since you've seen daylight?" he asked. "What the hell is all this trash doing lying around on the floor?"

Admittedly he had been sort of a slob. His throw blanket was the only object around that wasn't a piece of trash. He sat in an ocean of candy bar wrappers, empty chip bags and empty soda cans. Those were the most pathetic. He'd been looking for something else, something with a bit more kick, but quickly learned every drop of alcohol was under lock and key.

Just one time. He got drunk and almost died that one time and every adult in his life acted like he was a budding alcoholic.

He supposed he deserved it, but it didn't mean he wanted to be treated like someone who had zero self-control.

His thoughts drifted to May, and he wondered how she would have reacted to the crab melt incident. He only allowed it for a few seconds, before remembering he wasn't supposed to be thinking about her. His eyes flickered back to the screen, but it was black, so instead they found Mr. Stark.

His expression didn't match his annoyed and harsh tone. It was softer and stung Peter worse than if he would have been glaring at him. He didn't need pity.

"Alright, let's go. Up. Get up," said Mr. Stark. Peter continued to stare at him. "It's not a suggestion."

"Mr. Stark…"

"Nope. Don't wanna hear your whining."

Before Peter could stop it from happening, before he could grab the chair and secure himself to his favorite spot on the floor, he was yanked up to his feet by his arm. He wobbled, at first, and almost fell backwards, but Mr. Stark steadied him. He turned him around by his shoulders, towards the door, and marched him out of the theater.

They walked through the living room, with all its sleek furniture and extravagance, and out to the balcony. Fresh air hit his face, blew through his hair, and carried the scent of salt water. Down below, waves crashed against the shore.

Retreating to Malibu for Peter's spring break had been, of course, Mr. Stark's idea. Time away would do him some good, or at least that's what he was told. Peter wasn't so sure. He didn't see how being abandoned in California was any different than being abandoned in New York. The sunshine, he guessed, as if nice weather and sunlight made everything okay.

He stood by the railing with Mr. Stark's arm slung over his back and his hand resting on his shoulder. The sky was orange, and the sun was setting. The last rays of light were bouncing off the water, racing from the sun to where they stood overlooking the ocean.

It was all very beautiful and picturesque. Peter just didn't care.

"See? Fresh air, water, sunsets," said Mr. Stark. "Outside is good."

"Great. Can I go back _inside_ now?"

Mr. Stark's disappointment wasn't expressed out loud, but Peter felt him sigh. He knew he was worried. Peter couldn't find the energy to care about that, either.

"Yeah. You can go inside and take a shower," said Mr. Stark. "Then we'll go for a walk."

Peter backed away and ducked out from under Mr. Stark's arm. Suddenly he was very aware that he couldn't remember the last time he showered. It had been back in New York, probably, because he definitely didn't remember showering yet at the Malibu house.

"A walk?"

"Yeah. Exercise. I figure you need it since Spidey's been playing hookey and you've been wasting away in front of the TV."

Looking at Mr. Stark, he knew there was no fighting it, or at least, no amount of protest that would do any good. Mr. Stark wasn't someone who was used to not having his way, and Peter was getting used to his personal preferences getting shoved aside.

"Fine."

He dragged his feet inside and all the way to his bedroom. Somehow, he felt more miserable than when he woke up this morning.

There was something sort of embarrassing and unnatural about Mr. Stark's level of involvement in his life. That Iron Man was ordering him to take a shower and forcing him to exercise. He wasn't used to it from any adult. Not anymore, and that was the most uncomfortable truth that Mr. Stark's hovering uncovered, something he hadn't realized before. May's involvement, their interacting, faded long before she made the decision to remove herself from his life together.

It'd been such a slow decline, it'd been easy to miss, but that didn't make Peter feel any less stupid for not seeing it as it was happening.

* * *

By the time he was done taking a shower and getting dressed, it was dark outside.

His hair was still soaking wet as he walked just one pace behind Mr. Stark. They kept to the part of the sand that stayed consistently damp thanks to the rising and falling tide, and Peter felt relaxed. The rushing sound of water, the occasional wave washing over his feet, and the moon, hung high in the night sky.

It was better. He felt better. He didn't know he needed this, but Mr. Stark did and cared enough to put up with him long enough to force him into it. He started to feel less embarrassed and more grateful by Mr. Stark's insistent involvement.

Almost.

About the same time he started to come to this realization, Mr. Stark stopped walking and stuck his foot out. There was no time to react. Peter's foot caught on his, and before he could correct himself and balance, Mr. Stark pushed him into the ocean, straight into an incoming wave. The salt water engulfed him completely as he fell backwards into the sand, and when the ride receded, when he sat up, he was drenched.

"Hey!" said Peter, spitting out salt water as he yelled. Mr. Stark grinned. "What was that for?"

He shrugged. "You looked a little tired. Thought a swim might wake you up. You're welcome."

Peter stayed planted in the water, his fingers digging into the sand, and glared. It didn't have the desired effect. Mr. Stark broke into laughter, and that hadn't exactly been what Peter had been aiming for.

"Is this how you try to intimidate all those criminals you chase down as Spider-Man? You look like a drown, angry kitten." Mr. Stark waded deeper into the ocean, closer to Peter, and stopped when the water came up half way between his feet and his knees.

Peter splashed around in the water. "I wonder if there's any crabs in here…"

All humor vanished from Mr. Stark's face, and the look he gave made Peter immediately backtrack. He didn't understand how Mr. Stark could display so much venom with one look, and his glares possessed none.

"I'm joking," added Peter, quickly.

"That's not funny."

He turned and started to walk away, leaving Peter shivering in the water, but he couldn't have that. It wasn't fair. He leapt and lunged forward, catapulting himself into the back of Mr. Stark's legs and bringing him down into water.

It turned into a splashing, wrestling match, but it was one that didn't last very long. Peter was easily dragged back to shallow water and pinned against the sand by Mr. Stark's forearm. He grinned in victory for less than a second, before his triumphant look turned into one of utter confusion.

"Pete," he said. His head hovered above him, and the concern written there was evident even in the darkness. "How am I stronger than you right now?"

"Umm," said Peter. He tried to remove Mr. Stark's arm from his chest, used both his hands, but gave up quickly. He couldn't do it. "I sort of… lost my powers."

Mr. Stark's frown was immediate. "That's why you haven't been going out as Spider-Man."

"Yeah."

That and his complete lack of interest. There was no point. Every time he caught a criminal, there was another one or two who got away. He was just so tired, too tired, to be dealing with that every night, but he didn't mention this extra reason to Mr. Stark. He was worried enough already.

"Kid, these are the types of things I need you to tell me."

"Doesn't this count?"

"No it doesn't count," he snapped, with an annoyed edge that made Peter brace for the yelling he was sure that was about to happen, but instead, Mr. Stark made a pained face, then sighed. "I'm not mad."

He sounded mad, though, but it was hard to tell if his anger was directed at Peter, or at himself. Peter thought it was probably the latter. He could understand that, at least. Anger directed inwardly. Peter's been angry with himself for quite awhile now. He fell short. He wasn't good enough to keep any of his family around him, and one day, he was sure he would drive Mr. Stark away, too.

"I just wish you felt comfortable talking to me when something's wrong."

The tide came up, then fell away, and Peter shifted under Mr. Stark's arm. He was too afraid to say out loud what he was thinking, that they weren't there yet, that they were practically strangers and Peter didn't want to bother him with this sort of stuff.

"Are you going to let me up now?"

"I'm thinking about it."

"What?"

"When else I am going to have the opportunity to make Spider-Man say uncle? Soon you'll have your Spidey strength back and I'll –"

"-Mr. Stark –" said Peter, as he went back to attempting to pry his arm off his chest. He hated not having his strength. Then it hit him. "Wait, you think I'll get my powers back?"

"Of course you will," said Mr. Stark. He removed his arm, and helped Peter sit up. "It's part of your DNA. It's who you are. They'll come back."

His confidence was comforting and gave him vision again. It'd been a long time since Peter had even pictured himself putting the suit back on, pictured himself swinging from building to building or delivering justice. After May told him they weren't going to be a family anymore, everything became… dull, and a little numb.

But maybe he could be Spider-Man again, one day, when they got back to New York. Maybe one day it would have the same meaning to him that it used to.

"Come on," said Mr. Stark. He stood up and offered Peter a hand. "Let's go back."

He accepted the hand up and was back on his feet in seconds. This time when they walked on the beach, Peter made sure he wasn't between Mr. Stark and the ocean. The man couldn't be trusted, at least when it came to simple things like not pushing into the waves. In other ways, Peter supposed Mr. Stark could be trusted the most, even if he wasn't completely ready to always be totally honest with him.

Once they got back home, Peter retreated to the bathroom connected to his bedroom, where he washed the salt from his hair and got into warm, dry clothes. He crawled into his bed, buried himself under the covers, and got lost in YouTube instead of space. He'd been locked out of the theater, but his phone, at least, wasn't something Mr. Stark could take away from him.

* * *

The next morning Peter woke up to the best sound.

Rain. Heavy rain. Rain crashing down on the roof above him and shattering against the ocean outside his window.

A faint smile spread across Peter's face before he even opened his eyes. A rainy day meant a day Mr. Stark would not and could not drag him out of the house. A rainy day meant a day where could do the only thing he really wanted to do, hide under his comforter and zone out while his favorite YouTube videos played on repeat.

Mr. Stark may have closed the theater, but Peter didn't mind watching on a smaller screen.

With his eyes still closed, he patted the left side of his bed, searching for his phone, but after his hand closed around nothing except soft bedsheets, he was forced to pop his eyes open. That didn't do any good, though. His phone was nowhere, or wherever it was, it couldn't be seen. With a growl, he jumped out of bed and pulled the comforter with him. He shook it out. Nothing fell from its folds.

Peter had a bad feeling about this, but it was more than just a feeling, really, because there was only one logical explanation.

He raced out of his room and down the stairs, finding Mr. Stark in the kitchen. He leaned over the counter with his hand wrapped around a mug of coffee. There was a notable difference between Malibu Mr. Stark and the one that lived in New York City. In Malibu, it was jeans and old t-shirts with band names printed across the front. It was sort of nice, actually. Made him into more a person and less of a celebrity.

But at that moment, he was neither a person nor a celebrity. He was the enemy.

"Where's my phone?"

"Good morning to you, too," said Mr. Stark. "Sleep well?"

Peter glared, then felt self-conscious about glaring. He didn't want Mr. Stark to compare him to a kitten again. He changed his expression several times, unsure how he wanted to come across, until he gave up altogether. He pretended he didn't see Mr. Stark's amusement.

"Why would I know where your phone is?" he asked. Mr. Stark pulled a spoon out from the drawer, dipped it into a jar and plopped some sugar into his coffee. His eyes met Peter again as he started stirring. "Hey, maybe you left it outside."

Peter took a deep breath in, then audibly exhaled. This time he couldn't stop the glare in his eyes.

Mr. Stark took the spoon out of his cup and pointed it at him. "You're getting better at that. I'm upgrading you from kitten to grown-up cat. Still adorable, with just a slight risk of minor scratches."

"Do you always act like this when Ms. Potts isn't around?" asked Peter. He looked around the kitchen. "When is she getting here, by the way?"

He felt like his life might improve with her around to supervise Mr. Stark, or at least, his chances of survival would increase.

"Soon," said Mr. Stark. "And you know if you don't stop calling her Ms. Potts, she'll be the one tossing you into the ocean."

"Can I just have my phone back, please?" asked Peter. His bed was all the way upstairs, but he could hear it calling for him.

Mr. Stark didn't answer him. Instead, he moved out of the kitchen and towards the front door, motioning for Peter to follow him. Hesitantly, he did, and soon found himself standing outside, in the middle of a rainstorm, getting beat up by drops of water. The sound of rain hitting the ground, the house, the ocean, was so loud, he couldn't hear his bed anymore, couldn't even imagine his day going the way he had wanted it to when he woke up.

Once they got far enough away from the house that they could see the roof, Peter followed to where Mr. Stark pointed. His cellphone sat on the highest ledge, locked inside a waterproof bag, and Peter had never wanted to scratch someone's eyes out more than in that moment.

"Get climbing, Spidey," yelled Mr. Stark.

"I don't have my powers!" Peter shouted back. It was a struggle to be heard over the rain, and that was exactly the reason they should both be inside. Where it was dry. "I won't stick."

"Oh," said Mr. Stark. "I guess you'll have to go without it, then."

Peter opened his mouth and shut it several times. He tried to find the right words to complain with but came up short each time. He looked back up at his poor phone high up on the roof, then focused in on a nearby window. He ran back in the house before Mr. Stark could stop him, ran up the stairs and into the room that possessed the window closest to where his phone sat.

It was Mr. Stark's bedroom, and since the man obviously had no problem stealing his things from his bedroom, Peter didn't even feel bad about intruding on his privacy. He opened the window, gave a grin as rain spilled inside and carefully climbed onto the roof.

The tragedy that followed happened in steps.

First was Peter, clinging, trying hard, too hard, not to slip as he crawled on the roof in the blistering rain, and the next was him reaching, stretching, too far maybe but he was determined to have his phone back. It paid off. He grabbed the bag, and regained custody of his beloved phone, but then, he slipped.

He fell through the air, plummeted towards the earth just like the rain, except unlike the rain, Peter didn't hit the ground. He was caught by an Iron Man suit and placed on his feet next to Mr. Stark.

Safe and sound, but also miserable and cold and wet.

Peter looked down at the waterproof bag in his hands. There wasn't a phone inside of it anymore. Just crushed metal leaking parts. He'd squeezed it to death in the fall. He looked from the bag, to Mr. Stark, then back at the bag one last time before slamming it on the ground, turning on his heel and storming back inside the house.

"Peter!"

He sped up, and by the time he got to the front door, he was nearly running. Mr. Stark must have been running after him, because he was right behind him as went through the door.

"Peter," said Mr. Stark, quieter this time, now that the rain wasn't overpowering his voice, and Peter paused by the stairs. His hand hovered over the railing. "Look this is good news. You had to use your powers to do this kind of damage. Granted, I figured you would've used them to stick to the building when you slipped, but this works too."

"My phone is broken," said Peter. Sure, it was nice to hear his powers weren't completely gone, that they could still come to him in a panic, or when he absolutely needed them too, but he couldn't stop fixating on the loss.

In that moment, the phone carried more weight than Spider-Man, and while it made complete sense to Peter, Mr. Stark looked completely baffled.

"Your phone? You're upset about the phone?" he asked. "I'll get you a new one. A better one. Not some weird, off-brand version – "

"-I _like_ the off-brand version."

It came out louder than he meant, with a sob of anger and of grief. He lost more than just a person when his aunt left, he lost his entire way of doing life. He kept losing more and more of it each day. His weird, off-brand smartphone had been one the last remaining relics, and it was gone, too. It was incredibly stupid. He knew that. There must have been something broken in him, for him to be standing in Mr. Stark's living room like that, wringing out the ends of his shirt over and over again, with his head tilted towards the ground, about to completely lose it over a cellphone.

Mr. Stark took a step forward, and Peter tried to take a step backward. The stairs were there. He'd forgotten, and for the second time in fifteen minutes, he fell. That time he did hit the ground. He didn't bother getting up, didn't bother running away from Mr. Stark as he approached, sat down on the step next to him, and slung an arm around him.

"I – I thought I was helping," said Mr. Stark. "I thought if you knew you could use your powers again, you'd start feeling better. I didn't mean for your phone to get broken."

"I just wanted to stay in bed."

"I know," said Mr. Stark. "But I'm not going to let you sleep your life away, kid."

And that was annoying, that Mr. Stark just wouldn't leave him alone so he could bury himself under the covers. Peter didn't have the luxury of being angry or annoyed, though. The same person he was upset with was also the only person who could provide him with some amount of comfort, so instead of arguing, he just let Mr. Stark hug him.

He tried to get lost there, on the bottom step, by burying his face near Mr. Stark's shoulder and listening to the rain pound the house.

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much for reading, subscribing and favoriting. There's so many of you already, I can't even believe it.

A big thanks to EmilyF.6, JustReviewing, Jhessill, slader91, Phoenixhp5, BlondeMess, kushio3, maili-chan, Shadow-wolf78!


	3. California part 2

It figured Pepper would arrive at the Malibu house right on time to see him and Mr. Stark sitting on the bottom stair, both soaking wet and both visibly upset. Lately his life has been nothing but people catching him at his most embarrassing, most valuable moments. As it turned out, the death of his phone was no exception.

She paused in the doorway, looked down at the splatters of water that had dripped off them, then back up at them and asked, "Are you guys okay?"

Peter didn't know how to answer. He didn't have the words to describe the amount of grief he felt over losing his phone, and how stupid he felt for feeling so much grief over a stupid phone, so he just stared at her as he waited for Mr. Stark to answer for the both of them.

"Yeah," said Mr. Stark. His voice was dripping with more sarcasm than his shirt was water. "We're great. Right, Pete?"

"Y-yeah, never better," said Peter, and he tried to make his voice sound upbeat, sarcastic like Mr. Stark's, but instead it just came out defeated.

Pepper narrowed her eyes at Mr. Stark, and Peter got sent to his bedroom. Under normal circumstances he'd want to eavesdrop. He found Mr. Stark and Pepper's bickering endlessly amusing, but it was tainted somehow when he knew it was going to be about him. Besides that, there was no time for eavesdropping when he needed to change into dry clothes.

For the second time in two days, he marched up the stairs and down the hallway to his bedroom, dripping water everywhere as he did.

All of his clothes were still in his suitcases. Unpacking seemed like a long, exhausting and pointless activity. He developed a perfectly good system that involved no effort. Clean clothes stayed in his suitcases, and dirty ones got thrown on the floor in his room or in his bathroom. So far, it was working out great.

He searched his bag for something comfortable to wear and pulled out a plain grey t-shirt, or at least, he thought it was plain. When he straightened it out, he saw Iron Man printed across the front.

Peter didn't remember putting it in his suitcase, but he remembered the day he bought it. He'd been out shopping with Ned. The details were blurry, but it was a good memory. It was a time from before. Before he ever even met Mr. Stark in person, before he gave him the suit, then took it away, only to give it back again, before his Aunt May hated him and wanted nothing to do with him, and before Mr. Stark set him up to fall from a roof top and broke his phone.

He bought it when Mr. Stark was his idol, instead of the man he tried to hide from.

Peter couldn't pinpoint the moment when everything went on off the rails. Maybe it was the field trip that changed his life forever, or maybe it was when Uncle Ben took his last breath. He didn't know and thinking about it made his head hurt, so after he put on dry clothes and ran a towel through his hair, he crawled back under his covers.

He shut his eyes, and he was out cold.

When he woke up it was to someone rubbing circles on his back. It was too gentle to be Mr. Stark, so he wasn't surprised when he opened his eyes and saw Pepper sitting on the edge of his bed. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, and slowly sat up, as his room came into focus behind her.

"Hey…" she said. Her greeting barely sunk through to his brain. He was much more aware of the state of his room with her being there, and it was horrifying. "Tony said you slept through breakfast. I thought you might want to wake up and get something to eat. I have soup ready downstairs."

Peter never really wanted to wake up, and those days, he never really felt hungry. He needed to get Pepper out of his room, though, before she looked around and saw the mess. Somehow it was more embarrassing than Mr. Stark seeing it.

"Yeah, okay."

That's how he ended up sitting at the kitchen table with just Pepper and a giant bowl of soup in front of him. Peter stirred the soup around with his spoon. Soup was for sick people, and he supposed he was sick with something worse than the flu, something he wasn't sure hot soup on a rainy day could sooth.

After catching a look from Pepper, he finally brought the spoon to his mouth, swished it around in his mouth and swallowed.

"This… this is really good," said Peter. Something clicked, and he was hungry. Really hungry. He couldn't shovel it his mouth fast enough. "Did you make this?"

Pepper laughed. "No. That would be the work one of Postmates bravest drivers."

Peter frowned as imagined some poor soul driving through a rainstorm, getting in and out of their car, just to deliver him soup.

"Don't worry," she said. "He was very well tipped."

Right. Of course he'd been. Because Peter now lived in a world where it was reasonable to throw that much money into lunch. The thought didn't bother him as much as he wanted it too, and he kept enjoying the soup, actually enjoying something, until his bowl was empty.

Peter pushed his bowl forward and looked at Pepper. "Did Mr. Stark tell you he made me climb up on the roof?"

"Yes, I've heard," said Pepper, then sighed. "You know he's trying his best, right? Sometimes he has trouble relating to anyone who's not –"

"- a robot?"

She smiled and nodded. They didn't talk anymore about Mr. Stark. They heard his footsteps getting closer, and when he appeared in the kitchen, he carried a grocery bag in his hand.

"Did you… did you go to a store?" asked Peter. He had a hard time picturing Mr. Stark cruising the aisles of a local grocery store with a cart. Usually their groceries just appeared in the kitchen like magic.

"It was a necessary sacrifice," said Mr. Stark. "I brought dessert."

Peter peaked inside the bag and saw an ungodly amount of chocolate bars, marshmallows and graham crackers.

"Tony…" said Pepper, also eyeing the bag. "We are just three people."

"Have you ever seen Spider-Kid eat?" asked Mr. Stark. "He could eat three whole people."

Pepper rolled her eyes and dismissed herself from the smore making party Mr. Stark insisted they were going to have, citing jetlag and the need for a hot bath.

They set up in the living room, in front of the fireplace, without her. They speared marshmallows through metal sticks and stuck them in the fire and didn't remove them until they were nice and brown. They used them to make chucks of chocolate melt as they smashed together between graham crackers, and lastly, they made a mess with the chocolate-marshmallow goo.

"My nanny used to do this with me when I had bad days," said Mr. Stark.

Peter looked away from him and at the fire. "Your nanny?"

"Yeah, my parents were really busy people. Things that fell low on their priority list got assigned to the help."

It was hard to imagine the Starks hiring someone to parent their son the same way Pepper hired someone to bring Peter soup. Mr. Stark as kid had his parents, alive and on earth, but he didn't really have them, the same way Peter didn't really have Aunt May anymore.

"It's harder, I think," said Peter. "When they can see you but they just don't care. My parents and Uncle Ben didn't have a choice, but May… she just doesn't want me around."

Peter sat listened to the fire crackle while he waited for the rebuttal to come, for Mr. Stark to interject and lie to him. He waited for him to tell him May really did want to see him, but just couldn't, for one reason or another. The lies never came, just a nod, and Peter knew he did understand, or at least was trying to.

He thought about his Iron Man t-shirt. It was something he could never wear again, just like Mr. Stark could never be his idol again. Not because he made mistakes and let Peter down sometimes, or even a lot of times, but because Mr. Stark was becoming more than an idol, he was becoming family.

"When you're feeling abandoned," said Mr. Stark. "You can just remember you're not alone. I'm right there with you."

Peter nodded, and they sat quietly together. He didn't go back to his bedroom until several hours later.

* * *

Tony gave up on trying to trick Peter into using his powers.

In retrospect, it'd been a stupid assumption on his part that Peter's sadness had been caused by the loss of his Spidey abilities. It'd been easier to believe that. Something like that was easily fixed, and Tony wasn't sure if he was up to the challenge of helping Peter deal with the actual cause of his missing abilities, his depression.

So far, he hadn't been doing a great job, and while he felt like he gained ground the day they ate smores in front of the fireplace, he was currently backtracking, or more accurately, losing all his progress. His latest attempt to help Peter started well. He got Peter out of his bedroom with minimal complaining, but it took a turn rather quickly after that.

"I'm not an idiot, Mr. Stark," said Peter.

He sat across the table from him, a chess board between them, and a frown on his face. That was typical. Tony has learned to tune out his perpetually grumpy features, even if he did miss the excited, happy-go-lucky Peter Parker he used to be.

Tony was determined to get that boy back. No matter how spectacularly he kept failing.

"I'd be insulting myself to call you an idiot, Pete," said Tony. "You're winning."

"I'm not an idiot, so I know you're letting me win."

Tony knew that. He knew Peter knew that he was letting him win.

During the last ten minutes, the game had devolved into a competition of who could make the most obviously bad move, who could set the other up to win. It was fair to say in the game they were playing in reality, Tony was winning. He should've put a stop to the serenade, should've stopped pretending and started playing regularly minutes ago, but he just couldn't stop himself, the same way he couldn't stop himself from failing Peter over and over again.

Tony moved the piece that would force Peter into checking the king, and with a sigh, Peter gave up and lost the game by winning the game.

"Wanna play again?" asked Tony.

Peter looked at him like he was the idiot. "Can I just get in the pool… for a little bit?"

Tony arched an eyebrow and nodded, pleasantly surprised Peter hadn't asked to go back to his bedroom, but also, a bit disappointed as he watched him go. He hadn't been invited. Tony also didn't know how to get Peter to stop asking permission to do things like getting in the pool or going back to his room. It was like knives in his stomach every time, especially when he was asking permission to leave his presence.

He didn't want to be that type of parent. He didn't want to be Howard.

"That was smooth," said Pepper, from the couch. She flipped a page of her actual, physical book, in a house ran by the highest tech, as Tony sat down next to her.

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

"You're trying too hard," said Pepper. "Just let him come to you."

"Last time I left it up to him he almost died."

"No," said Pepper. She flipped another page. "Last time he was put it a situation with unlimited alcohol on demand and no supervision he almost died."

"He had supervision," said Tony, with a frown. "I was there."

"You weren't paying attention to him."

He hadn't thought he had to, but it was fair criticism. Back then he'd been dumb enough to believe Peter was handling May's absence well. As it turned out, he was handling it just about as well as he handled his liquor.

"He doesn't need you to let him win at chess," said Pepper. "He'll see that as pity, and condescending."

"I suppose it's a bit of both," said Tony.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He could barely deal with his own emotions, how the hell was he supposed to deal with a teenager's? At least Peter was outside, in the pool, instead of inside, watching Star Wars over and over again. Star Wars, of all movies, was starting to drive Tony crazy, but it also, now that he thought about it, it gave him an idea.

The best idea.

Hours after Tony's epiphany, Peter stood in front of him down in the workshop. His face was a little red, and Tony silenced the voices in his head that were berating him for not reminding the boy to put on sunscreen. He didn't have the time for self-hatred. Not in that moment. He had a plan to enact.

"FRIDAY said you wanted to see me," said Peter.

"Yeah."

He straightened out from his hunched position leaning over the worktable, and grabbed the new, sleek cellphone he had fixed up for Peter. It was an awkward handoff. Tony wasn't sure how the phone would be received after the loss of his original phone, but Peter took it, even if he was making pained face as he did.

"I put all your contacts in," said Tony. "And I managed to save your pictures and videos from that last phone. They're in there too."

"Thanks…"

His reply was unenthusiastic, but it was a different kind than Tony's been used to. It wasn't that he wasn't interested, it was that his interest was somewhere else. Peter's gaze was down, fixated on the blueprints laid across Tony's worktable, and Tony fought a grin. He set the trap, and Peter was about to fall for it.

"… what are you working on? Is that –"

"I'm building the Death Star," said Tony. "Scaled down, of course, but it's going to –"

"Shoot lasers?"

"Yup."

There was something playing out in Peter's expressions, like he was wavering between suspicion from excitement. Tony knew that Peter knew that they never really stopped playing chess, that this was for Peter and that it was another one of his schemes to make him feel better, but Tony also knew from his expression that Peter was warring with himself, that he was trying to calculate whether the building the Death Star was worth letting Tony win this one.

"You can stick around and help if you want."

"Really?" It was back in his eyes. A spark of excitement and curiosity, a flicker of the real Peter Parker, the one trapped in the misery trying to get out.

"I can always use an extra set of hands down here."

It took hours to build their fully operational model of the Death Star, but it was time well spent. Peter lost that perpetual frown. It turned into rock solid concentration as he helped him with every step of the building process.

Once they were done, it hovered in the middle of the workshop. It was just a tiny black orb, but it was armed with a powerful weapon. Tony wondered, briefly, if he should be teaching Peter to deal with his problems by creating something so dangerous, but the thought died once he saw how excited he looked, how ready he was to see their creation in action.

Tony drug scraps from a failed Iron Man suit prototype out in the middle of the workshop and made Peter put on goggles. They both ducked behind a table Tony turned on its side, just their eyes peered over the side as he clicked the button and powered it up.

There was a series of sounds, a beam of bright light, and an explosion. It sent pieces of metal everywhere, and once the smoke cleared, there wasn't anything left of the Iron Man prototype.

"That. Was. So awesome!" said Peter. He fished the new cell phone out of his pocket and held it sideways. "Can we do that again? I need to record it so I can send it to Ned. Or maybe, can we take it back to New York? Then he can just come over and see for himself."

So maybe Tony really didn't think this through. Maybe building an extremely dangerous weapon to cheer up a teenager wasn't the most responsible idea in the world, especially since he was stuck with an actual, albeit smaller, Death Star. He didn't have the heart to tell Peter they couldn't take it back to the city with them, so he just nodded.

The grin Peter gave him in return was worth the lecture he'd get from Pepper later on.

* * *

A/N: Firstly, thanks to everyone reviewing and favoriting and subscribing to this story. I don't think I've ever had such a big response for anything I've posted on here, and I wasn't expecting it. Usually I'm really good about responding to reviewers, but I've been traveling this week, on and off planes and in hotels and such, so if I was slow or just forgot to message you back, I'm sorry. Things are going to get back to normal, with longer chapters, as soon as I get home and sleep.

Shout out to ShadowWolf78, Lastine, Tiff, Jhessill, XSapphirexRosesxFanx, poohbear123, Phoenixhp5, Cargumentluv, and guest!


	4. california part 3

Peter glared at Mr. Stark as the man adjusted a Mickey hat on his head. He took it off as soon as Mr. Stark's arms fell back down at his sides and resisted the urge to stomp the hat into the ground or throw it away in a trash can. Either of those actions would just attract even more attention, and that was exactly what Peter was trying to avoid.

His efforts were in vain, though. It was literally impossible for Tony Stark not to attract all sorts of attention, especially in a place like that, where there were people swarming all around them, and since Peter, along with Happy, stood next to Tony Stark, he attracted all sorts of attention, too.

"This isn't what I had in mind when I agreed to get out of the house, Mr. Stark," said Peter. He watched as a gang of small kids, with their eyes glued to Mr. Stark, were pushed along by their parents.

"Oh, come on, Pete," said Mr. Stark. "This is Disneyland. The happiest place in the world."

He wanted to melt right there on the concrete path just like the ice cream one of those kids had dropped in his shock over seeing Iron Man.

Once, when Peter was younger, he wanted to go to Disneyland, or Disneyworld, or anywhere really, where he could see his favorite movies come to life, as if they were real. There was never enough money, though, and Peter wasn't younger anymore. He was older. He knew movies were just movies, even if there were actors who got paid to dress up and pretend to be characters from them.

He was certainly too old for Disneyland, or at least, too old to be escorted around a theme park by both a parental figure and a body guard. A very grumpy body guard at that. Not that Peter blamed Happy for his bad mood, he was right there with him, but every time Happy shouted at crowds of people to respect their perimeter, he wanted to vanish on the spot.

It was almost worse than Mr. Stark ambushing him with sunscreen in the parking lot while photo-happy crowds looked on. Almost.

Peter could already see the headlines. Tony Stark and the Queens Orphan spend day at Disney. That's what the press called him. It was either Queens Orphan, or Tony Stark's ward. Peter didn't know which one he liked the least.

"What do you want to do?" asked Mr. Stark, as he elbowed him. They came to stop by a giant park map.

"Go home," said Peter.

He and Happy shared a look of mutual misery and agreement. At least Peter wasn't wearing a black suit. He saw the sweat on Happy's face and decided he might be shouting about perimeter's too if he weren't wearing shorts and t-shirt.

"You know the deal," Mr. Stark told him. "Five rides and lunch, then we can go."

Peter didn't remember making a deal like that. He remembered that he was starting to feel better, starting to get up and out of his room more, when Mr. Stark convinced him he needed to get out of the house. He was under the impression they were just going to see a movie in theater, or maybe just out for lunch. Not that they were headed to Disneyland.

He didn't understand why Mr. Stark wanted to torture him this badly, but if he was going to be tortured, he planned on taking the other two with him.

"Can we get lunch first?" asked Peter. It was just ten thirty, but Peter wasn't eating because he was hungry. "I'm starving."

"Sure."

They found the place that served the giant turkey legs and scarfed them down, then Peter led the two men to the roller coaster he was sure would annoy Mr. Stark the most, the Incredicoaster.

"You want me, an actual superhero, to go on a ride with you dedicated to cartoon superheroes?" asked Mr. Stark

"Yeah," said Peter. He shrugged. "It's the fastest."

He knew his roller coaster history. He didn't want to say so out loud, fearing it would only encourage Mr. Stark in all his antics, but he loved rides, loved spending summer days in Coney Island with Ned. Even after the spider bite, there wasn't anything like a good roller coaster. Only swinging through Queens as Spider-Man could compare.

"Alright," said Mr. Stark. "Let's go."

Mr. Stark directed him to the fast pass lane, and Peter bit his lip while they walked passed the people waiting patiently, or not so patiently, in the standard line. Having unlimited FastPasses didn't feel natural for him, so he kept his head down until they got to the front, where they only waited a couple of minutes to be let on the ride.

"I'll meet ya on the other side, boss," said Happy.

"You're not coming, too?" asked Peter. "Afraid of it? This is a little kid–"

"-I'm not afraid of the roller coaster," said Happy. "I'm here to keep you two from getting trampled. Not go on rides."

"Sounds like fear to me, Mr. Stark."

"Kid's got a point, Hap."

Happy narrowed his eyes, and sneered, but ultimately followed them past the gate and onto the ride. They nabbed the cart in the very back. He and Mr. Stark sat up in the first two seats and left the one in the back for Happy to occupy by himself.

The ride started and Peter felt something familiar during takeoff. A flicker of something he hadn't felt since Spider-Man, since he lost his powers and stopped caring that he lost them. There was a rush that came with slicing through the air and looping upside and also, a genuine laugh that escaped from him as he listened to Happy's terrified screams coming from behind them.

It wasn't until the ride screeched to a halt back at the beginning that Peter realized that he did care about losing his powers. For the first time, he wanted them back. Desperately.

"I hate both of you," said Happy.

Peter laughed again as they exited the cart, but this time, it was forced.

Mr. Stark wore the same expression, and his eyes were still behind his sunglasses. Though his hair now stuck up in several different directions, Mr. Stark seemed completely unphased by the ride. It was Happy that stopped to lean over into a trashcan and puke up the turkey leg.

It was a short-sighted scheme. Of course, Iron Man wouldn't be phased by a roller coaster in Disneyland.

"Wanna go again?" asked Mr. Stark.

Peter looked back at the Incredicoaster. "Yeah."

He did want to ride again, and not just to fill Mr. Stark's quota. He wanted to feel close to Spider-Man, as close as a roller coaster would let him get, anyway.

"I'm sitting this one out," said Happy.

Peter shared a grin with Mr. Stark, but they didn't pressure him anymore. They got back in fast lane, rode the coaster more than five times, and by the time they left the park, Peter didn't really care about the cameras and people anymore. He was too exhausted. Tired enough, even, to allow himself to fall asleep on Mr. Stark on the drive home.

Later that evening Peter sat by the pool with his feet dipper into the water.

At some point his bedroom stopped being his favorite place in the Malibu house, and it became right there, poolside, where he had good view of the ocean down below. It was seconded only to the workshop. Sometimes Mr. Stark let him blow up stuff with the Death Star, but they were running out of things to destroy.

He heard the door behind him slide open, and when Mr. Stark sat down beside him, Peter thanked the stars up above for being out. Better them than the sun and having Iron Man chase him down with a bottle of sunscreen again.

"Did you have fun today?" asked Mr. Stark.

"Yeah," said Peter. "I just… don't like people taking pictures. They're not going to leave me alone now, though, are they?"

"Afraid not."

Peter suspected as much. He figured it was worth it, though. He rather have to deal with the drama of being Tony Stark's ward than the drama of belonging to the state. He also suspected today was more about getting Peter used to the attention than it was about fun. Mr. Stark did always seem like the type that would throw someone in the deep end to teach them to swim.

"You did good," said Mr. Stark. "When we get back to the city it'll almost be like you were born a Stark."

Peter gripped the edges of the pool a bit tighter. He knew Mr. Stark didn't mean anything by the comment, but the thought terrified him, the thought of losing himself completely and becoming a whole other person. He already lost so much of his old life. He already lost May.

"Mr. Stark," said Peter. He wasn't brave enough to ask before, but in that moment, he was more afraid of what might happen to him if he didn't. "Why did my aunt leave?"

He thought about it all the time. He wondered how the conversation between Mr. Stark and Aunt May went when they decided to change his life forever without his consent.

"I don't know, Peter."

"It's because Spider-Man."

"No."

"Yes, it is. Everything was fine before then, that's when everything got messed up."

"Look Peter, it's got nothing to do with you," said Mr. Stark. Peter knew what he was going to say next. "She's figuring some things out."

He always said that, and it just made Peter believe he had something to hid, convinced him even further that he was right. May didn't want a superhero teenager. She wanted a normal teenager. How could he want his powers back and his aunt at the same time? And how could he sit out by the pool and let Mr. Stark comfort him when he knew he was lying?

It made his head spin, so he sighed, and nodded, and let Mr. Stark think he believed him. Peter could lie, too.

* * *

Peter didn't get out of the bed the next day.

He laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, blinking slow and silent tears away. The grief hit him when he woke up, and it was disorientating. He'd been feeling better. He'd been starting to enjoy Malibu, with all its sunshine and warmth. Now he was back where he started, pulling his comforter over his head and waiting with a bit of dread for Mr. Stark or Pepper to force him out of bed.

He didn't feel up to dealing with another one of Mr. Stark's schemes. He didn't even feel up to floating around in the pool or asking Mr. Stark to supervise him while he blew up stuff with the Death Star.

He just wanted to be left alone in his bedroom, to be empty and broken where no one could see that he was empty and broken. That way he wouldn't have to feel weak or guilty about still feeling sad when everyone around him tried their best to make everything okay. It wasn't fair. Not for him, or for Mr. Stark, or for Pepper, for this emptiness and numbness to sneak up on him right at the very moment he thought he was getting better.

A soft knock on his door marked the end of his alone time. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, flipped over on his belly and buried his face in one of his pillows. As the door slowly creaked open, Peter assumed it was Pepper's turn to drag him out of bed. She was the gentle one, but when Peter heard a worried, tired sigh as the bed dipped down, he knew it was Mr. Stark.

He played dead. He didn't move or breath to loudly or do anything at all to communicate to Mr. Stark that he was awake. He hoped, maybe, Mr. Stark would take pity on him and let him sleep.

He put his hand on Peter's back, the same way he had that night he almost died from alcohol and food allergies, and it took him a bit to realize it wasn't in attempt to pull him from his dreams. Mr. Stark probably knew he was awake, probably heard about his distress from FRIDAY, and probably his hand was there for comfort.

Peter relaxed a bit. There'd be no more schemes. Not in that moment.

"I'm sorry, Pete," he said, and Peter frowned into the pillow. He hadn't been expecting an apology. It came out of nowhere, just like Peter's grief, and now that Mr. Stark was apologizing, he was certain the man didn't have anything to apologize for. "I keep trying to make things better for you, but I'm in over for head here. I don't know what I'm doing, and you just keep getting hurt."

Peter wondered if he was talking about his crushed phone, or riding around on roller coasters that was fun, at first, until it reminded him of what he didn't have and why he could never have it again. Or maybe he could. He still remembered Mr. Stark's confidence that night on the beach. If he still had a vision for Spider-Man, maybe that was enough to keep it going until Peter could see it again, too.

He lifted his face, shifted under the comforter and Mr. Stark's hand, and turned around.

"I heal fast."

At least he used to.

"And it's not your fault," said Peter. He sat up slowly. "At least you try and sometimes you get it right and you know, you're around-"

Mr. Stark cut him off by putting his arms around his frame and holding on tight. Peter didn't understand it, how or why his depression seemed to affect everyone around him so much. Hell, he didn't understand why Mr. Stark cared about him so much in the first place, or why he was holding onto him like that, like he might be dragged away or under a riptide if he let go.

He didn't want to question it, though, or attribute it to the faint smell of alcohol on Mr. Stark's breath or his guilt. He just wanted to be there with Mr. Stark. He'd been wrong before. Being empty and broken was worse when he was alone.

"What can I do to help you today, Pete?"

He paused. His first instinct was to tell him that he just wanted to go back to sleep, but he knew, even if it was annoying, that Mr. Stark was right. He couldn't sleep his life away. This was the first time he got to choose the way he coped, and he wanted to show Mr. Stark he could make good decisions on his own, without his helicoptering. Besides, he truly did think of something better than sleeping.

Peter wiggled out of his hold, and hesitantly, Mr. Stark let him.

"Could we… watch a movie? In the theater?"

"I'm invited?" asked Mr. Stark, with an arched eyebrow. Peter nodded, and Mr. Stark jumped off the bed. "Alright, let's do it, then."

Peter stood up, ready to follow Mr. Stark down to the theater, but also, not completely ready to leave his bed behind. He made a compromise and stripped the comforter away from his bed. Mr. Stark looked him up and down.

"Really?" he asked. "We had blankets in the theater, in the closet –"

"-I like this one," said Peter.

He just sighed and let Peter struggle with the linguists of moving a king sized comforter down a flight of stairs and into the theater.

Mr. Stark split off to the kitchen to get some snacks, leaving Peter to enter the theater alone. He threw his comforters in the front seats, then looked down. It was a mess of empty soda cans and candy wrappers and empty chip bags. Apparently, when Mr. Stark locked the theater, it was locked even to the housekeeper.

He stared at it, then acted on impulse. He picked up as many as he could carry at one time and dumped them in the trash can near the door. He went back just one last time for the rest, until it was gone, until there were just a few crumbs littering the floor.

When Mr. Stark came back, he had a giant bowl of popcorn he sat between them, a soda for Peter and a bottle of water for himself.

"Star Wars?"

"Nah," said Peter. "I'm tired of that one. You pick."

The giant screen in front of them came to life, and soon Peter was lost again. This time on the sea, with pirates, instead of in space with rebels. He wasn't lost, alone, either, and somehow, that made all the difference.

* * *

A/N: annndd that concludes the california part of this story. I know this part has been a bit of a mess, but now I'm home and back to my regular life, I want to update this more consistently with longer chapters that make more sense. I do have to finish up another series though, so it might be bit before the next chapter of this is up.

Thanks so much for all of you reading! There's so many and I didn't expect this story to grow this fast.

Shoutout to Jhessill, maili-chan, xSapphirexrosesxFanx, Tiff, BlondeMess, Phoenixhp5, EmilyF.6, cargumentluv, Lastine, poohbear123, and Applsd for your thoughts on the last chapter! I loved reading them, and I'm glad I'm not the only one who likes the idea of Tony building an actual Death Star.


	5. don't walk on the oozing wound part 1

**Warning for gun violence/strong language. It's mild, but it's still there.**

* * *

The day Peter got shot started off well, and that should have been his first clue, really. Peter Parker just didn't have good days. Not anymore.

That morning he woke up to his alarm. Not to Mr. Stark or Pepper dragging him out from under his covers. His favorite songs played while he showered, and then once he was dressed for the day, he jetted off downstairs to the kitchen. He had been determined to return to normalcy, to reclaim as much of his old life as could, and that meant making himself breakfast.

His eyes trailed over the large kitchen once he reached the bottom of the stairs. His hand gripped the steel railing to his side. It was intimidating. Practically a stranger's kitchen, and Peter didn't know where to begin. Up until then, he'd been perfectly content eating pop-tarts and cereal, or even whatever food Mr. Stark attempted to make for him.

He took a breath, then got to work.

It was a series of stumbling around at first, a series of opening and shutting drawers and cabinets until he found his ingredients. And then, once everything was aligned on the counter top, the rest easy. He made his famous omelets. He made them for himself, and for Mr. Stark and Pepper, too. He needed them to be famous again. The only other person he cooked them for, the one who dubbed them famous, wasn't around to appreciate them anymore.

Mr. Stark made his entrance by hurrying down the stairs, pausing at the same place Peter had, looking confused and worried. His eyes flickered back and forth from Peter to the plate piled with omelets, before he marched slow and steady into the kitchen and put the back of his hand against Peter's forehead.

"Are you sick?" he asked. His hand moved to clamp down on top of Peter's damp hair. "And you already showered? I'm calling the doctor."

Peter ducked down and out from under his hand. "I made breakfast."

"I see that," said Mr. Stark. There was still suspicion in his eyes, but also, there was something else. Something that completely overpowered the suspiciousness when the two of them sat across from each other at the dining room table with their breakfast and Mr. Stark took his first bite. "Pete… this is the omelet I've ever tasted."

He couldn't help his grin. It was true Mr. Stark's compliment had less to do with the actual omelet and more to do with Peter making it out of bed. That was fine. Peter's grin had less to do with the compliment and more to do with being able to give Mr. Stark a reason to quit worrying about him so much.

As it turned out, this was a bit premature. Mr. Stark had every reason to keep on worrying about him.

They both should have known it was too good to be true. All the signs were there. There weren't any disagreements at the breakfast table, even with Pepper sleeping in, and even with Peter asking if he could hang out with Ned after school in Queens. Mr. Stark agreed. Peter didn't fight it when he was slipped some spending money. Just a couple of twenties. A noticeable improvement from the multiple hundreds he would try to gift him with in the beginning.

"Got your watch?" Mr. Stark called after him, as he swung his bookbag over his shoulders and headed towards the elevator.

Peter turned, raised his right hand pushed down his sleeve, revealing the shiny and sleek black watch Mr. Stark built for him. He nodded his approval, and Peter went on his way, waiting for the elevator to take him down to the front entrance where Happy waited to take him to school.

The drive there, just like the rest of the day, went by like a breeze.

There was just a slight bump in the day, in gym, while they were supposed to be doing sit-ups.

"I guess Penis really was Tony Stark's intern," said Flash. He was talking to his friends, but his volume implied he wanted everyone, including Peter and Ned, to overhear him. "Guess now he gets to be his charity case scheme for improving his PR."

"Forget him," said Ned, and Peter did.

The comment didn't bother him as much as he thought it should, and by the time him and Ned were out of school and standing in line at Delmar's, he'd forgotten.

"Are you coming over after this?" asked Ned.

"I can't," said Peter. "Mr. Stark wants me home by seven."

This was something that couldn't be connected with his life from before. May was never one to be a curfew setter, especially towards the end of their life together, and also, it was a reminder of his missing powers. Spider-Man was allowed out at all hours, but regular, normal teenage boys had early, unfair curfews. At least they did if it was Mr. Stark making the curfews for them.

"You still call him Mr. Stark? Even now that you're living with him?"

Peter adjusted the strap of his book bag and stood on his tippy toes in attempt to see what was taking so long up front. Mr. Delmar and another man, a customer, were arguing. He fell back on his feet with a mental sigh. All he wanted was a sandwich. One that would taste like home.

"He doesn't care what I call him," said Peter. That was a lie. Back when he first came to live with him, Mr. Stark tried to get him to call him Tony. He has since given up. "Just… calling him Tony would make everything… real."

"It's real enough already, dude," said Ned. He lifted Peter's hand by the watch.

"That's… not what it looks like," said Peter. "It's, uh, a safety precaution. In case I accidentally eat something I'm allergic too. It injects epinephrine."

"Really?" asked Ned. He examined the watch more closely, before Peter gently jerked his hand away. "That's so awesome. It's a tracker, too, right? What else does it do?"

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but his voice couldn't be heard over the sound of a single gunshot.

The sound was deafening, and it sent everyone in the shop to the ground on their bellies. Except Peter.

He stayed standing upright as time seemed to slow down. He needed to make sure Mr. Delmar was okay, and he was okay. Alive, at least, even if he was staring down the barrel of a gun with a bullet hole in the wall behind him.

"I'm not gonna fucking tell you again," said the man. He was red in the face, either from anger or from all the arguing with Mr. Delmar. His voice shook, but his arm didn't. It stayed steady with the gun pointed at Ben's forehead.

Mr. Delmar. The gun was pointed at Mr. Delmar's forehead, but not even self-correction could stop the fracturing of Peter's brain waves. Or maybe it was the opposite. Maybe that's what it felt like when things got put back, got rewired the correct way. The image of Mr. Delmar being held at gunpoint, and in consequence, Ben in the same position, was a painful reminder why the world needed him to be Spider-Man.

The gunman took his finger off the trigger, just slightly. Peter took the opportunity.

He charged at him, collided with him, and they both went tumbling to the floor. It was no good, though. The force of Peter's tackle hadn't been strong enough to part the man with his gun, and he hit him with it, across the back of the head. He pushed Peter aside and stood.

"Dumb ass kid," he said. He kicked him in the stomach. "Stay down."

He lifted his eyes despite the pain in his head and in his stomach and made eye-contact with Ned. He was mouthing something to him, but Peter couldn't make it out. Ned repeated it over and over again. No luck. The pounding in his head made it hard to concentrate on lip reading. There was one word that was unmistakable, though.

Spider-Man.

Peter figured Ned was confused. He hadn't bothered telling him that his powers left him the same way Aunt May did. Peter was confused, too. He thought they would come back if he were in danger, like the time he crushed his phone as he fell from the roof, but if they had, he would have easily taken the man down.

"You hear me?" shouted the gunman. He was still standing there. Right above him. "Fucking stay down."

Peter couldn't do that anymore.

Once Mr. Stark told him he wasn't going to let him sleep his life away, and it wasn't until then that Peter knew he meant it in more than one way. He was tired of sleeping. He was tired of staying down. With or without his powers, with or without May, life marched on. So would he.

He waited until the gunman turned his back, then sprung to his feet, ignoring the dizziness, and bringing them both back down to the floor. It didn't go much better than last time. Peter's powers don't make entrance. Peter was pinned quickly, hit across the front of his face with gun, and screamed at.

"You think this is a game?" His words were unnerved and angry. It was a combination Peter knew spelled trouble for him, knew it even before the gun blasted off once, twice, then three times. "There. Maybe that'll teach you to listen to the man with the gun."

The pain wasn't immediate. There was a brief pause in the universe, or at least, in his universe, as his brain tried to process what had happened. Then he looked down. He saw the three holes in his leg, and then it was on fire. He bit his tongue to keep from screaming out loud, bit it so hard he tasted his own blood, but he didn't care.

He wouldn't give that asshole the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Ned screamed though, and Mr. Delmar shouted.

"What's the matter with you, huh? You just shot a kid!"

Someone else piped in, "Dude. That's Tony Stark's kid."

There was a rebuttal on Peter's lips. Not biologically. He wanted to add that in somewhere, but he didn't trust himself to open his mouth with cursing or screaming. The guy who shot him didn't look much better off. His eyes were wide with realization and fear.

" _Shit."_

"Better get out of here, man. Tony Stark has, like, cameras everywhere. Probably on his way already."

Footsteps hurried out of the grocery store, and Peter let out a pained gasp as he threw his head against the floor. All he wanted was a sandwich, one that tasted like home, but all he could taste was metal as he bled out on Mr. Delmar's floor.

* * *

Mr. Stark showed up before any of the ambulances.

Peter heard him, heard the sound of clanking walk into the store, and knew immediately, without looking, he came dressed in his armor. A fury entered the room with him. It was something Peter felt in the air as Mr. Delmar secured a torn piece of his shirt around the wound on his leg. He gasped with pain as the final knot was tied tight, and Ned pushed down harder on his shoulder to keep him on the floor.

"Where is he?" asked Mr. Stark.

That felt like a dumb question, and it took Peter a couple of seconds to figure out Mr. Stark hadn't been talking about him, to catch onto his tone and the dangerous undercurrent that carried it across the room. That wasn't a tone that he would ever use to talk about Peter. Mr. Stark was looking for someone else. He was looking for blood.

"He ran," said Mr. Delmar.

"Which way?"

Peter heard the clanking again, but this time, it was getting further away.

"No! Wait," said Peter. He tried to sit up but cringed with pain. Instead he turned his head right there on the floor and saw Mr. Stark standing in the doorway. "S-stay, please?"

The fury vanished from the atmosphere Mr. Stark locked eyes with him. He walked away from the door, kneeled down next to him, placed a hand on his other shoulder and removed his face plate. That was better. Iron Man was comforting, but Peter needed to look at real eyes.

It was starting to get cold, and he was starting to get scared.

"It h-hurts."

"I know," said Mr. Stark. "But you're gonna be fine, Pete."

His eyes didn't match his words. They stared at his leg wound, and Peter barely resisted the urge to look at it again. He imagined it was a lot worse than before. Both his slowed breathing and the chill under his skin were important clues that his blood was probably soaking through his jeans and Mr. Delmar's shirt.

"I'm just gonna give you a lift, so we can get you to the hospital faster, alright?"

Peter's nod was sluggish and slow, but Mr. Stark was quick. He had one arm locked under his shoulders and his other pulled up on the back side of Peter's knees. He picked him up easily. Peter felt like he was weightless. Like a ragdoll, he went limp in Mr. Stark's arms. He tucked his head into his chest and shut his eyes tight.

"FRIDAY, make sure Bellevue is ready for us," said Mr. Stark. A light breeze blew through Peter's hair, and it was his only indication that they'd left the grocery store. "You're gonna have to hold on Pete, can you do that?"

He wrapped his arms around Mr. Stark, and his grip was questionable. Not only was he weak by Spider-Man standards, but also, he was weak by Peter Parker standards. Mr. Stark must not have thought it was strong enough, either. The arm supporting his shoulders disappeared. The one supporting his legs stayed.

Peter expected the flight to be bumpy since Mr. Stark only had one hand to steer, but he barely noticed they were in the air at all. He didn't realize when they hit the ground, or even when they hospital. At least not until Mr. Stark was putting him down on something soft and he heard the scrambling of doctors and nurses and their urgent, fast talking.

A panic caught him, his head swam, and he held onto to Mr. Stark tighter. He knew, from the movies, that this was the part where Mr. Stark would leave him and let the medical staff wheel him away to surgery.

"Pete you have to let go of me now."

"No."

Mr. Stark easily removed himself from Peter's grip, and gently pushed him so he was lying down on the stretcher. Peter opened his eyes. He intended to convey every ounce of the betrayal he felt with that one look, but his eyes ended up teary instead.

"I want you to come with me," said Peter. He didn't care that doctors and nurses were waiting and watching. They might as well not have been there at all.

"You know I can't do that," said Mr. Stark. "But I will be here when you wake up."

"N-no. Just don't go. Not you too."

Mr. Stark looked conflicted, almost pained, as he ran an iron-covered hand through his hair. Peter tried to hold onto it, to make his hand and the rest of him stay, but his arms didn't seem to want to obey him anymore and they stayed limply by his sides. Mr. Stark stepped away from the stretched and gave a nod to one of the doctors.

He wasn't ready to be wheeled off to surgery, but they wheeled him down the hall towards the swinging, double doors, anyway. Someone put a mask over his nose and mouth. Someone else ordered him to start counting backwards. He didn't. He just laid there until there was nothing.

* * *

Peter was drifting at sea, and he wanted to stay there, rocking around on that boat, forever. There wasn't anything troubling about the waves, or anything frightening about the nothingness in front of him. Behind him was different. There was a shore he wanted to stay away from, an island he didn't want to be trapped on, but there was also a slow, steady persistent beep. It drug him backwards, closer to shore, until he was forced into awareness.

He wasn't staring out at the sea. He was staring straight up at a white ceiling in a hospital room.

The last place anyone wanted to be.

So much for reclaiming normalcy. Every time he took a couple of steps forward, life tossed him twelve steps backwards.

He shifted his head to the side and searched the room for Mr. Stark. The last thing he remembered was his promise to be there when he woke up, and Peter desperately needed that to be true.

His eyes found Iron Man. Literally Iron Man, in plush form, sitting on a small wooden table next to his bed. The stuffed toy held a sign that said get well soon, and was surrounded by boxes of candy, flowers and other knickknacks commonly found in hospital giftshops. Then Peter saw the real Tony Stark. He sat on a couch behind the table filled with gifts. He used one of his hands to support his head as he scrolled with his thumb on his cellphone.

"Mr. Stark?" tried Peter. His voice was groggy, but it worked.

His head popped up. His attention diverted away from the phone immediately.

"Where did all this stuff come from?" he asked, looking at the stack of presents again. By the quantity of the presents, he feared he'd been asleep for days.

Mr. Stark abandoned the couch and walked over to stand by his bedside. "I don't really do waiting rooms, kid. I just couldn't… sit there… doing nothing, so I found the gift shop while I was pacing around and well, I guess it made me feel like I was doing something."

Peter imagined Mr. Stark frantically buying everything in the giftshop, forcing himself to stay at the hospital so he would be there when he woke up, even though Peter knew what he really wanted to do to feel useful was hunt down the man who shot him. He reached over to the table and grabbed the Iron Man plush.

"Thanks," said Peter. He allowed a small smile as he held the plush his lap. "I love this, Mr. Stark."

He ran a tentative hand through Peter's hair again. This time it was his real hand, and he let it rest between his ear and eyes for a few seconds before withdrawing and taking a few steps backwards. "So, you're really awake now? Last time you woke up you were rambling about being on a boat."

Peter frowned. He didn't remember that, but before he could stress about any other embarrassing things he might've said, Mr. Stark moved on.

"What were you thinking, Pete? Never charge a man with a gun."

"I just couldn't… couldn't stay down anymore," said Peter. He looked at his leg covered up with a hospital blanket. It was probably good he couldn't see it. He didn't think his stomach could handle the gore. "Is it… am I okay?"

"You did well in surgery. The doc said he's optimistic for a full recovery, no lasting damages."

"So we can go home."

A solemn pause was enough to make Peter's stomach drop, and the answer that followed it didn't do anything to improve the silence. It was Mr. Stark's round way of saying no, one that made Peter wish he was just direct.

"You were shot three times and it's clear your healing isn't working like it. You'll make a full recovery. That just takes time for us normal people."

"How long do I have to stay here?"

"I don't know," said Mr. Stark. "Three or four days, maybe."

Peter looked back at the plush in his hands and unraveled the string holding the get well sign in place. He discarded it in the mess of gifts on the table. He didn't want it mocking him anymore. There wasn't any soon without his powers, and it was hard to believe that just that morning he sat at the kitchen table eating omelets with Mr. Stark, smiling and determined. That earlier he longed to be back in Queens eating sandwiches from Delmar's and now he just wanted to be in his bedroom at the penthouse. It felt like the universe was trying to take all his homes away, to erase all his progress before he even made any.

"It's gonna fly by. I'm going to make sure they put you in a good room once you're out of recovery, and I'm gonna call Pepper and have her bring the blanket from your bed and your real clothes. Just think of it as an extension of your spring break, like staying at a hotel, okay?"

"Okay," said Peter, resigned to his fate.

"And I'm going to stay with you," he said. "The whole time."

Peter felt like Mr. Stark should've led with that. The thought of spending any amount of time in that hospital alone filled him with so much he even say the polite thing and tell Mr. Stark he didn't have to. He was afraid the man might change his mind. Instead he nodded, and looked back down at his leg covered in hospital blanket and wondered how long a wound like that would take to heal.

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much for reading!

And shoutout to Jhessil, shirozi, Tiff, anyctophillian, poohbear123, cargumentluv, EmilyF.6, Phoenixhp5, Lastine, and maili-chan.

Also, I have a Tumblr now. Come shout at me. .com


	6. don't walk on the oozing wound part 2

Peter split his attention between the TV hanging above his bed on the wall, his cellphone that he gripped in his hand, and the shower water that ran in the connecting bathroom. None of it belonged on the plate of food Mr. Stark had sat in front of him before he disappeared into the bathroom. It was baked chicken and steamed vegetables and a baked potato, and it all smelled really good, but Peter's stomach hadn't agreed with some of the pain medication from the night before.

He didn't want a repeat of that, of spending hours throwing up into a trash can while Mr. Stark rubbed his back and pretended he wasn't completely grossed out. He would never admit it, but Peter knew Mr. Stark didn't want that, either, even if he was the very person trying to push all this food down his throat.

If Peter could go back in time, it would be to the seconds before his doctor handed Mr. Stark the recovering from surgery pamphlets. He took those things way too seriously, and it was ruining his life. Like right then, for example, he just wanted to watch the news reports on TV and not worry about whether the chicken on his plate would come back up if he put it in his belly, but he knew if he didn't at least start on his food before Mr. Stark emerged from the shower, the nagging would make him nauseous instead of the food.

He picked up the fork, held it loose in his hand, and watched the news with a grin. The commentary around his getting shot, or more importantly, Mr. Stark's reaction to him getting shot, amused him to no end. Some with a mustache yapped about the safety of New York City while red letters ran on a loop at the bottom of the screen.

TONY STARK UNLEASHES SURVEILANCE BOTS ON NEW YORK CITY

Over and over again it trailed across the bottom of the screen, until it lost all absurdity and became normal, at least to Peter. Stuffy commentators on the news had their opinions, and those opinions are hilarious. He didn't care about these random people on the news thought about Mr. Stark's insane method to find the man who shot, just cared that he didn't leave him at the hospital alone, and he hadn't.

He let his eyes drift over to the makeshift office Mr. Stark had made in the corner of the room. On the coffee table next to the couch he slept on, there was a series of laptops, connected to each other with wires and other extricate electronics. It was the control center for those robots flying all over the city, searching for the gunman.

Peter heard the water shut off in the bathroom, and he quickly looked back down at his food. Time was running out. He forced a bite of the bake potato down and surprised himself by eating the entire thing before Mr. Stark appeared from the bathroom with a tooth brush hanging out of his mouth and wet hair.

He looked down at Peter's plate, then back up at him. He pulled the tooth brush out from his mouth and pointed at Peter.

"Do I have to get on you about eating your vegetables like you're five?"

Peter sighed and ruminated on his jealously that Mr. Stark was up and around and clean. Simple actions like taking a shower were out of reach with fresh stitches and a healing leg wound.

"And what did I say about watching the news?"

"Umm that I should?"

"Turn it off," said Mr. Stark. Peter picked up the remote and switched off the TV. "Don't look so sad about it. Rhodey's coming over to visit."

Peter's eyes flickered back up to Mr. Stark's wet hair. He put a hand thought his own and cringed. It was gross after sweating and throwing up all night and while he did manage to get into the bathroom to wash off with a washcloth, he wasn't able to do anything about his hair.

He just wasn't strong enough yet to stand on one leg while bending over the sink, and his wheelchair wouldn't stay in one spot whenever he tried to put his head down in the sink.

"Uh, will Pepper be here tonight?"

"She's Pepper, now is she?" asked Mr. Stark. His tone was light, like a joke, but Peter could tell, there was real hurt behind the words. "She got caught up at work. Not tonight."

"Oh."

"Why? What's wrong?"

Peter stared at Mr. Stark. He couldn't believe he was about to ask Iron Man to help him wash his hair, but the alternative seemed worse. "Well the doctor won't let me take showers yet and I can't really bend my head over the sink without standing up for a long time – "

"You need help washing your hair."

"Yes."

"I… I can help with hair," he said. He pointed back to the plate of food. "Eat your dinner first."

"Seriously?"

Mr. Stark popped the tooth brush back in his mouth and made a face that compelled Peter to finish eating. His fear of throwing up again had come and gone anyway, and once he was completely finished, he batted Mr. Stark's hand away as the man tried to help him off the bed and into the wheelchair. He could do it himself. Determined to maintain every ounce of independence as he could, he used one of the crutches to lower himself in the wheelchair and swiped his cellphone from his bed after he was successful.

"I know your generation is addicted to their phones, but do you really need to take it with you to the bathroom?"

"I might get a call."

"Peter I saw you ignore three calls from Ned this morning," said Mr. Stark. "Listen I don't want you to get your ho – "

"-Just don't, okay?"

"Okay," said Mr. Stark. He threw his hands up in the air in mock surrender, then gripped the back of the wheelchair and pushed him into the connecting bathroom. When he was positioned so his back was pressed up against the sink, he put his phone in his lap and listened to water pour from the facet.

Very cold water that was suddenly being flicked at him.

Peter jolted away from the sink. "That's cold!"

"Oh, it is?" asked Tony. He put his hand back under the stream and flicked more at him. "Feels fine to me."

Peter stretched his own hand backward, and through the water and splashed some on Mr. Stark. He flinched, dramatically, and Peter laughed.

"Was that – did you laugh?" asked Mr. Stark. He adjusted the temperature of the water and wiggled his fingers through it. "I thought there was no happiness in hospitals?"

"I was on drugs when I said that."

"Pshhh you're still on drugs," said Mr. Stark. "Lay your head back."

Peter looked up and blinked.

"It's fine now," said Mr. Stark. He flicked more water at him. "See? Lay your head back."

"Just don't get shampoo in my eyes."

Still eying Mr. Stark with a bit of mistrust, Peter laid his head over the sink and let the warm water run through his hair. It wasn't until Mr. Stark massaged shampoo through his hair that he realized Ned had been right those few seconds before Peter got gunned down. The watch hadn't been enough to prove to Peter all this was real, but sharing a hospital room with someone, relying on them this way, that kind of evidence couldn't be ignored.

By the time the conditioner was washed out and the water was turned off, Mr. Stark became Tony, even if it was just in his own mind, and Tony was rubbing a towel on his head, drying him off. Once that was finished, he lifted his head and picked his cellphone back up from his lap, turning it over and over in his hands.

"She's not going to call, is she?"

"No, kid, I'm sorry."

"She doesn't even care I almost died."

Tony stepped in front of him, but his focus was on the towel in his hands, as he dried them off. "She does care. She… called me and asked if you were okay."

"She didn't want to talk to me?"

"She didn't want to upset you."

"Tony," said Peter, and his head snapped up from what he was doing. He looked happy, for a moment, before Peter opened his mouth and ruined it. "I'm already upset."

"Yeah," said Tony. He gestured to the open bathroom door by titling his head. "Let's get you back in bed, alright?"

Peter nodded and let Tony wheel him back into the hospital room, where Rhodey was waiting for them. One look at his leg braces made Peter feel sort of guilty of being so dramatic about not being able to walk without crutches for a while. At least it wasn't permanent.

Rhodey looked annoyed, not at Peter, but at Tony, and since Peter felt he should stay as quiet and as unnoticeable as possible when the two adults in the room were about to throw down, he allowed Tony to help him into his bed without protesting. Once he was settled under his covers, the ones that had been brought from his bedroom as promised, Rhodey was the first to speak.

"Tony you cannot fill the streets of New York City with thousands of your weapons," he said. "It makes people nervous."

Tony took a seat at the end of Peter's bed, by his feet, and laid his hands down flat on the mattress. "Uh they're cameras, not weapons, and the only person who needs to be nervous is the asshole who shot my kid."

"Let the police handle this, Tones, it's their job."

"Yeah, well, they don't seem particularly interested in doing their job," said Tony. He leaned his head back to look at Peter. "Right, Pete?"

"Um – "

"Cut the shit, this isn't about the police doing their job, it's about you wanting to get your hands on him first," said Rhodey. "Call them off.

All three fell silent when Rhodey's phone started buzzing. He held up a finger to tell them he'd be right back and stepped out of the room. The whole argument, as short as it was, left a bad taste in Peter's mouth. Those news reports didn't seem so hilarious anymore. He felt dumb. He felt childish for believing Tony Stark was tracking down his shooter just so he could drop him off at the police department with a clever sticky note attached to his forehead.

Of course not. Tony was Avenger. He avenged, but still, it felt wrong to Peter that word meant the same as revenge.

Rhodey popped his head back into the room, only long enough to say he needed to leave and hit Tony with another stern look. Things were quiet after that. Peter put on a movie, since he wasn't allowed to watch news and after that argument no longer wanted to, and Tony retreated back to his makeshift workstation to check the surveillance footage.

Peter couldn't concentrate on the movie. His thoughts were split into two, and they were warring with each other. By the time the credits rolled, and Tony walked back over from his temporary office and asked him how the movie was, he wasn't even sure what he'd just watched.

"It was okay," he said. "Um Tony? What did Rhodey mean about you getting your hands on him first? Like he just meant you wanted to catch him, so he'll to jail and not shot anyone else, right?"

The look Tony gave him made him feel even more stupid, even more like a child, and he immediately wished he could take his long, rambling sentence back. Yet, he couldn't stop his mouth from moving even more.

"I… I don't think… I think you should stop with the robots," said Peter. "Why can't we just let the police handle it?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Why? Because I'm young and naïve?"

"I didn't say that," said Tony. He refused to raise his voice back, refused to argue, and that made it worse. That he was quietly confident in his position, the complete opposite of Peter.

He was shaking with insecurity. He should have done what Tony is doing now when Ben got shot, should've hunted that man down or even took care of him right there on the spot. He didn't. He didn't do anything, and if he had, maybe May would be able to love the part of him that was Spider-Man. She would still be there for him, and they would still be a family.

"I don't want to argue with you right now, Pete," said Tony. "You're tired, and it's time for bed."

Peter stayed sitting up in his bed, stayed staring at Tony, until the man sighed and walked closer to him.

"Scoot over," said Tony. Peter didn't move. "What? Just because you're the one who was shot it means you get to hog the only bed? I'm old and the couch makes my back hurt. Scoot over."

He slipped over to the other side of the bed, and Tony settled in next to him, putting an arm around him and it wasn't fair how exhausted Peter felt in that moment, now that he felt it was safe to be. He would've let sleep take him right then and there, but he needed to know the truth about why May left, needed to know if it was what he suspected so he could decide how he was going to fix it.

"Tony," said Peter. "I know you're trying to protect me, but I just… I need to know…why my aunt doesn't want me anymore."

"Peter I – "

"Please. I think I know… it's because Spider-Man, even though you say it's not, but it's the only thing that makes sense."

Peter felt Tony tense up, but after a few beats, he sighed, and said, "It isn't because Spider-Man. Not exactly. She just felt that… that she wasn't capable of taking care of someone who's in our line of work."

"… That's the same thing."

"No, it isn't," said Tony. "Look she just couldn't handle the idea of losing you and she couldn't tell you to stop because she knows it's who you are. She thinks she's doing what's best for you, and I'm not saying I agree, but it's not something for you to worry about. It's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong, okay?"

"Okay."

Peter still thought there was something missing from his explanation. There were still tons of details he wanted to know, but at least he got the truth, or part of it, and with the truth came a plan, one that would prove to his aunt that she could love Spider-Man just as much as she loved Peter Parker.

He sank down in the bed and used Tony's stomach as a pillow instead of his actual pillow. Tony adjusted his grip on his shoulders and rested his hand on Peter's now clean and dry hair, occasionally running his fingers through it, until finally he drifted off, with no stomachache to wake him up.

* * *

A/N: I know! It's been forever! This chapter gave me so much trouble, who knows why, I think I was just having some writers block. Anyway, thanks so much for being patient!

Thanks so much to all you for taking time to review this story! It means so much!

And also, I'm doing the Febuwhump thing that's been going around on Tumblr. I've been posting them A03 but I haven't decided if I'm going to post them here yet since they're kind of random and A03 makes stories like that so much more easier to organize with there series option and tag systems. I might upload them here when I have more time, but if not, and you're interested, you can read them on A03. I'm under the same username or you can them through my Tumblr.


	7. don't walk on the oozing wound part 3

They released Peter from the hospital, but before they left the room, Pepper purged through all of Tony's giftshop purchases.

Empty boxes of chocolate and dying flowers were thrown in the trash, and the other knickknacks were dispersed through the children's ward. Peter insisted on keeping the Iron Man plush, though, and it sat in his lap as Tony raced him through the hospital hallways in his wheelchair. They burst through the automatic doors as if they were crossing a finish line only to come to a sudden halt on the sidewalk.

Outside greeted them with a warm breeze, a bright sun and a cloudless sky. Inside Peter still felt like it should be raining, but he appreciated nature's attempt to cheer him up.

The drive back home from the hospital was short. He sat in the backseat, quietly, and listened to Tony and Pepper chat up front about very mundane things, then before he knew it, Tony helped him into his bed and pulled the covers up to his chin.

"Try to get some rest," he told him. He wiped the hair from his forehead and left the room.

Peter looked around his big, empty room, alone for the first time since he had been bleeding out on Mr. Delmar's floor. He missed his hospital room. He missed the focused attention that came with lying in a hospital bed, but he supposed he shouldn't feel so entitled. Tony had better thing to do than to keep him company all day, like tracking down the shooter so he could deliver justice.

That didn't seem like such a big deal to Peter anymore. Tony was just doing what men do, doing the right thing, and what Peter should've done when Ben was shot and killed. Peter planned to make up for that once his powers came back.

If his powers came back. Peter went back and forth trying to decide if he want them, had restless internal debates on the best course of action to get May to come back. He could regain his powers, prove to her how useful they could be, or vanish them forever.

Peter's phone rang, and a wild, reckless hope ignited in his chest.

It vibrated on his desk, oceans away from where he'd been tucked into his bed, with the expectation of him staying there. He sat up, shrugged the covers off, and looked at his crutches standing up against the wall only a few feet away, then his eyes fell on his leg where, under his pajamas, the wound was still covered with a bandage.

The debate in his head went silent with his decision. He was going to be Spider-Man again, and Spider-Man didn't lounge around and wait to be healed. Spider-Man healed fast. He swung his legs over the bed, and stood up, at first putting all his weight only on his good leg.

He took a breath, then he took off. The first step was fine, but the second sent a burst of pain shooting up and down his leg. He fell to the floor with a yelp, on the half-way point between his bed and his desk and couldn't help the sudden tears that stung his eyes as his phone went still and silence up on the unreachable desk.

He was curled into a ball of the floor, gasping with pain, when he heard Tony's hurried footsteps enter his bedroom.

"Peter?"

He gave no response, but that didn't matter. Tony was sitting on the floor next to him in a matter of seconds. His hands went under his armpits, and he tried to pull him up into his arms and onto his lap. Peter wouldn't have it, though. He fought him, he pushed back and tried to ignore the pain in his leg as he did.

"Peter stop it," said Tony, but he couldn't.

He continued pushing back, continued the struggle on the floor of his bedroom, but it wasn't a struggle that lasted very long. His arms gave up quickly, and he folded into Tony's hold, letting the man hold the back of his head and press it into his chest. Peter sobbed into his shirt, both frustrated and somehow content to be overpowered.

Maybe he hadn't made up his mind yet. Maybe the debate was still playing on.

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay," said Tony.

Peter had never heard Tony's voice go that soft before that day, and he'd never been held onto quite so tightly. They stayed just like that, on the floor in the middle of the bedroom, until Peter felt his eyes get heavy and his breathing slowed down. Tony carried him back to bed, brought the covers back up to his chin, but this time, he wasn't so quick to leave.

He sat on the edge of Peter's bed. There was concern in his eyes, but he wasn't speaking any of it out loud.

"I'm going to make us some lunch," he said, after moments of silence. "Sound good?"

Peter nodded, and Tony got up from the bed. He stopped by the bedroom door, looked over at the desk, then changed his route. Tony retrieved his phone, and brought to him, as if he read Peter's mind, and left the room.

Before looking at it, Peter took a deep breath. He expected, or rather hoped, to see an unknown, out of state number listed as his missed call, but he was disappointed when he saw it had just been Ned.

Ned, his best friend, who was still trying to contact him after he had been ignoring him. Ned, who wasn't May, but was the very next person to walk into Peter's bedroom.

He brought a large, white paper bag and the familiar, glorious smell of sandwiches from Delmar's with him. They were sandwiches that tasted like home. They were what started this mess, but Peter couldn't help it. The second biggest tragedy of the day he got shot was not getting his sandwich, and that was about to be remedied.

It didn't come without guilt, though. Peter hadn't been a very good friend, and he could only say one thing.

"What – what are you doing here?"

Ned stood at his doorway, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and crinkling the top of the Delmar's bag. "Mr. Stark called and said you needed a friend. And some lunch."

Tony did always seem to know what he needed the most. Even before Peter did.

"I brought sandwiches," said Ned. He held up the bag, as if it needed an explanation, and walked further into the room. "I was gonna… visit sooner, when you were in the hospital, but you wouldn't answer my calls. I didn't think you wanted to see me."

"I didn't want to disappoint you," said Peter. "Spider-Man is the best thing that ever happened to you, right? Well I'm not him, anymore. My powers are gone, Ned and I don't even know if I want them to come back."

Ned came closer and sat on the end of Peter's bed. He put the Delmar's bag down, gripped the edges of the mattress and looked at Peter. "Spider-Man's cool and all, but Peter Parker is my best friend. So be Spider-Man, or don't be him, but you're always going to be Peter. We're always going to be friends."

Peter looked down. He was guilty and undeserving of a friend like Ned, who still called him and showed up with sandwiches even when he was being an asshole and ignoring him, even when he was disappointed to see his name flash across his cellphone screen just because it wasn't somebody's else.

Especially since that somebody didn't afford Peter the same kind of unconditional friendship that Ned did. Peter was waiting for someone to call that could never really love him all the way, someone he'd have to prove part of himself to, and he didn't have to do any of that with Ned or Tony or Pepper.

"I'm sorry, man," said Peter. "That I didn't answer when you kept calling."

"It's okay," said Ned. "I think getting shot is a pretty good excuse not to answer your phone when it rings."

They traded smiles, then got to work on those sandwiches. They were gone quickly, and Peter, armed with his crutches took Ned down to the workshop to show him the Death Star Tony made for him back in California.

His cellphone stayed on his bed. Everyone he wanted to talk to was right there in the penthouse.

* * *

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Peter rolled his eyes and kept his attention on the stove and his half-formed pancakes. It took extra attention to cook breakfast since he had crutches under his arms to stand, and only one good leg to put his weight on.

This sort of overreaction was typical. His days of recovery spent at home were filled with Tony trying to get him back into bed, with him insisting he needed more rest or needed to get more vegetables or drink more water.

Someday Peter imagined this brand of helicopter parenting might drive him crazy, but for now, he bit back a smile as he flipped his pancakes. It was comforting. It reaffirmed the same message that the Iron Man plush had. That Tony isn't going anywhere, and if he did, he certainly wouldn't be leaving Peter behind.

"You're supposed to be in bed," pressed Tony.

"I have a leg wound," said Peter. "I'm not an invalid, and it's almost time for school."

"Funny I thought we decided last night you were taking today to rest."

Tony confiscated the spatula from Peter, gently bumped him over to the side and took over the pancake flipping. With a sigh, Peter took a seat at the kitchen table, carefully placing his crutches against the table so they wouldn't fall over.

"You decided," said Peter. "I'm ready to go back."

Tony made a disgruntled noise but remained otherwise quiet while he finished up breakfast. He slid a plate in front of Peter, added a bottle of syrup to the table and sat down in the seat across from him.

"I still think you should stay home."

"Tony," said Peter. Calling him by his first name was the new magic word, his new way of getting what he wanted, but it reminded Tony that he was no longer Mr. Stark. "I just want my life to go back to normal. I can't stay home forever."

He made another noise. This one more worried and relenting than the last one. "You'll call me if you get to tired?"

"Yeah," said Peter. He nodded his head. "Of course."

"Then I suppose you're right," said Tony. "But also defective. What kind of teenager doesn't take an extra day off school?"

Peter shrugged and laughed and ate his pancakes.

He left the penthouse that morning with renewed determination for a good day. He wouldn't stay down anymore, even if he had to stand with crutches for a while.

And his drive paid off. When he walked into school, he was immediately hit with good news. Spider-Man was back. He made a reappearance last night, and it was all the buzz in the hallways at Midtown.

Peter didn't understand until he got to his locker. His was progress slow and steady thanks to his crutches and the stares they attracted, but once there, he pulled out his phone and checked the news.

SPIDER-MAN CAPTURES GUNMAN WHO SHOT TONY STARK'S WARD

Different variations of the same article popped up onto his phone, but they all had a picture of the sticky left on the gunman who'd been webbed up outside on the steps of the police station. The note might have been signed Spider-Man, but it wasn't his signature. It was Tony's.

Peter grinned as he slid his phone into his pocket and opened his locker. He didn't know what was better, the fact that the media was speculating about how Spider-Man apprehended a criminal before Tony Stark's bots did or imagining Iron Man using his web-shooters to keep the spirit of Spider-Man alive.

Or maybe, the best part of all of it, was that the rumors in the hallway were true. Spider-Man was back. In spirit, and soon, in person.

* * *

A/N: I know it's been forever! Febuwhump took up so much more time than I expected it to, but now it's March and I want to start posting on this story regularly again. I'm aiming for every week or so, depending on how long a chapter ends up being.

Thanks to everyone who's been patient this past month and I hope to post the next part of this story soon!


	8. a really big deal

Peter held his fork loose in his hand, eyes going back and forth between Tony and Pepper, who were staring at him from across the dining room table with suspiciously expectant faces. None of the three talked, there wasn't any idle chat-chit or playful bickering, and maybe that should have been Peter's first clue that the dinner was a trap.

By the way they weren't talking, by the way they were looking at him as though they expected him to start the conversation, he suspected it was a trap set to coax information out of him, and his suspicion was confirmed when Tony finally decided to break the silence and be the first to speak.

"So, is there anything you want to tell us?"

"Umm," said Peter, fidgeting with his fork. He looked at Pepper, then back at Tony, and tried to figure out how they discovered his secret. "No?"

Pepper rolled her eyes, as if Peter were the one being dramatic and ridiculous, as if he were the one who organized what Tony had called a proper, family style sit down dinner, just to interrogate someone.

"Tony could learn from your modesty," said Pepper. "We know about your grades."

"My grades?"

"Did you really think we wouldn't notice straight A's?" asked Tony, and Peter loosened up a bit. They hadn't figured it out yet.

"Oh, that," said Peter. "It's no big deal."

It wasn't. It was common for him to end semesters like that, and Peter knew that Tony knew this, with all his background checking and helicoptering, so he didn't understand why it was being turned into a huge event.

Or maybe he did. The overreacting was his primary reason for keeping his reemerging spidey powers a secret, for now, until he could work up the energy to deal with what Peter was sure would be a very dramatic, over the top, response.

"Of course it's a big deal," said Tony.

"What Tony means is," said Pepper. "You've had a rough year, and we wouldn't have blamed you if your grades suffered, but they didn't and you worked extra hard after missing so much school when you were shot, and that is something truly remarkable."

Peter couldn't stop the smile, the rush of pride, because it was one thing when Tony complimented him, but it was another thing entirely when Pepper, who lived much more closely to the ground, to believe something he did earned praise.

"And it deserves celebrating," said Tony. "So, what do you want?"

"Oh I don't need –"

"Don't be ridiculous. All the parenting books say I need to reward good behavior."

"You read _parenting books_?"

There was something about that idea that was horrifying. Tony, deeply engrossed, with words meant to teach him how to deal with Peter. Tony ignored the question.

"A party with all your friends? How about a car?"

"Tony he isn't even old enough to drive," said Pepper. "Just think about it for a while. Maybe there's somewhere you want to go on vacation this summer when we're done in California."

Peter looked at her, and when it was clear he was confused, she turned to Tony.

"You haven't told him yet?"

"Well, no," said Tony. He looked guilty, so Peter prepared himself for bad news. "Kid, uh, there's some SI business I've been putting on hold, that can't wait anymore. So, we'll be spending some time at the Malibu house this summer.

Peter looked down at his half-eaten dinner. There were a lot of bad feelings rolled up in what Tony just said. The first being all the guilt that came with the realization that Tony and Pepper were putting business on hold to keep him in school, to make it possible for him to get those straight A's they were now going out of their way to celebrate. Then there was being away from the city, and away from Ned, when they already had their summer planned out, and lastly, there was Spider-Man.

He'd yet to make a reappearance since his powers had, and he thought the summer would be the perfect opportunity.

"Just a month, tops," said Tony.

Peter tried to keep the disappointment off his face and offered a shakey smile. "Great. I love California."

Tony narrowed his eyes at him in a way that made Peter believe he wasn't buying what he was selling.

"Really," said Peter, trying to reassure him.

And it wasn't exactly a lie. He did like the house out in Malibu, and learned to love it, even, over Spring Break, but he couldn't help to think that while Tony and Pepper were busy with SI, Peter would be spending his days alone in a big, empty, house.

They finished up with dinner, chit-chat and playful bickering resumed, and after Peter was shooed away for just trying to help clear the table, Peter returned to his bedroom. He went straight to an oversized beanbag chair that sat in front of his TV and grabbed one of his last functioning game controllers.

The rest of them were broken and hidden in his closet, crushed by strength and no doubt evidence for his parents to find out his powers were back. They were redeveloping in the same way they had occurred the first time, tricky to control and unpredictable.

He switched his game on, was extra careful with his last controller, and resolved, after the fuss that was made over his grades, to keep his powers a secret as long as he possibly could.

* * *

The last day of school was loud and chaotic.

Grades were already calculated, teachers were mentally on their summer vacations, and students, for the most part, were allowed to do whatever they wanted as long as they showed up to their classes and stayed still long enough for attendance.

Being there was just a formality, and one most of them didn't mind.

It was the last chance to be around friends who weren't friend enough to see outside of school, and for Peter, his last chance to be around Ned before taking off to California for a month tops.

"But dude," said Ned. He sat sideways in the desk next to Peter. "You can't go to California. The Star Wars comes out next weekend."

"I know, Ned," said Peter. It was a tradition he loved, and one that would be impossible for him to forget. They always saw new Star Wars movies together, on opening night. "But there isn't anything I can do. Tony has business, and there's no way he's letting me stay by myself for that long."

"You mean Tony Stark doesn't trust the poor orphan boy in his luxury penthouse while he's gone? That's shocking."

Flash sat in the desk behind them with a Nintendo Switch in his hands and his ears where they didn't belong. The sounds coming from the Switch indicated that he was playing Peter's favorite game, the one he was the best at, and before he could send a warning look to Ned, he already had his mouth open and words were coming from it.

"Peter can beat level fifty-two in under five minutes," said Ned.

"Bullshit," said Flash. He didn't take his eyes off the game until it made the terrible, a life was lost, sound effect. He and Peter stared at each other, then Flash pushed the game into his hands. "Prove it."

Peter took it with a shrug and started the game. His reflexes were incredibly sharp, curtesy of his powers, and his fingers made fast work of the joystick and the buttons. He was almost there, to the end of level fifty-two, when Flash must have realized he was going to do exactly what Ned had said and uttered a comment regarding his aunt May and questioning the amount of money she was paid to sell her nephew off to Tony Stark and leave the city.

A ridiculous statement, one that had no truth, but still punched Peter in the gut. His hands tightened, and the Nintendo Switch got crushed under them, his hand going straight inside the plastic.

"What the fuck?" shouted Flash.

Their Chemistry choose that moment to lift his head from his daydreamers. His eyes went from the broken game, to Flash's angry face, to Peter, before he pointed at the door.

"You two. Principal's office."

* * *

Parents were called, and Peter sat in a chair across from the Principal's desk, quietly freaking out. Flash's father was the first to arrive. He sat next to Flash, who shrink into his chair at his arrival and lost that aura of obnoxiousness that normally surrounded him.

After a few minutes of tense, uncomfortable silence, Peter figured got it. He found himself wilting his own chair as Mr. Thompson gave him side-eye. Sometimes he was more upfront with his glares. He checked his watch often. He made loud sighs, and finally, after a rather loud one, he broke the silence.

"Can we get on with this?" he asked, turning his glare on Principal Morita.

"It's usually protocol to wait for both sets of parents to arrive before we begin," said Morita. He was calm, routine, as if dealing with difficult was not out of the ordinary for him. "Especially when it involves something serious like property damage."

Mr. Thompson replied with a scoff. "As I'm sure it's protocol for Stark to be under the delusion that he can keep the world waiting simply because he flies around in a metal suit."

"Did I hear my name?"

Tony had his head poked in the door, and he must've noticed Peter was tense. He gave his shoulder a squeeze as he took the seat next to Peter, placing himself between him and Flash's dad. Panic slipped away. Relief replaced it, and Peter was able to sit up a little bit straighter.

"I would like the record to show I was under that delusion way before I was Iron Man."

Principal Morita looked between the two men, and their sons, and Peter couldn't figure out who he pitied most. After getting a glimpse of Flash, he decided it was definitely him. Peter didn't think it was possible for him to disappear more than he already had, but he seemed to be getting smaller and smaller the more seconds that went by.

"Let's just get this over with," said Morita. He motioned to the broken Nintendo Switch laying on his desk, then looked at Peter. "I'm assuming this was an accident. Do you want to explain what happened, Peter?"

"I was trying to get a high school," said Peter. He thought about what happened next, about Flash's dumb comment about May, then forgot about it. "And I lost." His eyes found Tony's. He knew what admitting this meant for his secret. "So, I was frustrated, and I guess I just forgot my strength."

Peter watched a light, some warmth and some pride flicker in Tony's eyes, and knew the man understood. Watching his expression change like that, Peter couldn't remember why he'd been keeping it a secret, anyway.

"Pete, that's great news," said Tony, and they continued looking at each other for a few more seconds, smiling, before they realized they had an audience. Tony cleared his throat. "We just really value physical strength in our family."

Mr. Thompson frowned and glared, and the Principal paused, possibly to process, but then decided it was best to move on.

"Well, I think that settles it then. It was an accident, so as long as the property is paid for," said Morita, aiming a look at Tony, "which I'm sure isn't an issue, we can move right along to our summer vacations."

"I'll have someone write you a check," said Tony, to Mr. Thompson.

"I don't want your money, Stark," said Mr. Thompson. "I want him expelled."

"Excuse me?"

"He can't just destroy my son's property and get off without receiving any punishment just because he's Tony Stark's charity case."

"Dad really it's okay, he's going to pay –"

"Be quiet, Eugene," said Mr. Thompson. The tone was silencing, and it hadn't been meant for Peter, but made him look down at his shoes anyway. "Think your grades are going to cut it for Harvard with this freak running up the curve each semester? You're not intelligent enough to compete."

"He's got more intelligence than you, apparently," said Tony. He gripped the armrest on his seat, and Peter wondered just how much he was holding back. "I think the kids need to leave the room."

"Anything you have to say can be said in front of my son."

Tony didn't look at Mr. Thompson. He kept his grip on the armrest, his veins popping out of his hands, and looked straight ahead at the Principal. "All the books say the kid shouldn't see me lose my temper."

Both he and Flash were dismissed, reluctantly, but that didn't stop the shouting from being heard through the very thin high school walls.

Tony berated Mr. Thompson for calling Peter a freak and trying to get him kicked out of school just to make his own kid shine brighter. Mr. Thompson yelled back, shouting that Tony didn't know how to discipline his child and that Peter shouldn't be allowed at a school like Midtown, that he needed to be put in a more advanced school.

Peter wasn't worried. Nobody told Tony what to do and actually got their way. Unless they were Pepper Potts.

He looked at Flash, and for the first time, saw through the lies. He was suddenly all the more thankful for Tony, and slightly ashamed that he was ever annoyed or embarrassed by his making a big deal out of every little good thing he did. Peter vowed to never take that for granted again.

"I'm sorry I broke your game," said Peter.

"Yeah, well," said Flash. "You should be."

Peter sighed, didn't know what he was expecting, then jumped in shock as the door to the Principal's office flew open. Tony marched out, put a hand on Peter's shoulder and directed him out of the administration office.

"We came to a compromise," he told him. "You're suspended for the rest of the year, and we don't have to pay for the game."

"…but today is the last day."

"Yep," said Tony. "We're outta here, buddy. How about milkshakes?"

"Milkshakes sound amazing."

* * *

Later that evening, Peter attempted to beat level fifty-two in under five minutes again. He was alone, in his bedroom, and so he was only proving it to himself, but that didn't matter. He still grinned in triumph when he cleared it, with seconds to spare, and felt like he could retire from the game in peace.

When he stood from his beanbag chair, and turned, he found Tony standing in his doorway.

"I think we should still give Flash money for a new game," said Peter, as a way of greeting. He still felt about breaking it, and the chaos that happened afterward.

"If that's what you want," said Tony, walking further into his bed. He beckoned at Peter's couch and motioned for him to take a seat. "Let's talk, okay?"

Once they were both seated on the couch, Tony continued.

"So guess what I did today, besides yelling at one of your peer's fathers in the Principal's office."

Peter laughed. "Ummm I dunno."

"I figured out what you wanted to celebrate your grades."

"Oh my god," said Peter, with a mock groan. "There's a car outside, isn't there?"

"No, I'm saving that for your sweet sixteen," said Tony. "I spent a few hours with Ned's mother, convincing her to let us kidnap him for a month."

" _What?"_

"She agreed, of course, once I told her how much of a help it'd be to have someone around for you to hang out with while –"

He was cut off by Peter knocking the air of him with a forceful hug. It was exactly what he wanted, even if he hadn't thought of it himself.

"Thank you."

Tony closed his hands around Peter's arms, and pushed him back, so he could look him in the eye again.

"You didn't even let me get to the best part."

He let go of him, slipped his hand inside a pocket in his suit jacket, and pulled out four tickets. They were for the actual, red carpet premiere of the new Star Wars movie. Peter blinked at them, thinking they might disappear, and wondered when Tony started keeping track of when popular movies came out.

"…how did you know?"

"You and Ned always see Star Wars movies on release day," said Tony. "You've said it more than once."

This was spoken like it was no big deal, like it wouldn't matter to Peter that Tony listened when he talked and remembered what was said and then went out of his way to prove it. It would have meant the same to Peter if they were ordinary tickets, to an ordinary theater.

Peter hugged him again, buried his face in his chest, and took a deep breath so he wouldn't start crying. There had been enough of that this last year. This time, Tony hugged him back, held him close, and after what was possible the worst year of Peter's life, the world felt like it would be okay.

They sat like that, for a couple of minutes, until Tony started to shift around.

"Pepper is waiting for us with dinner," said Tony. "Wanna let go of me now?"

Peter tried, but his arms wouldn't separate from Tony's suit jacket. "I can't. I'm stuck."

Tony laughed, kissed the top of his head, and a few minutes later, after relearning his powers enough to unstick, Peter was able to let go.

They joined Pepper in the dining room, and she already had the table set up with takeout from one of Peter's favorite restaurants, because they _knew_ his favorite foods without having to ask.

And as Peter sat down at the table, he figured Pepper had been right the day before. He did have an unbearably rough year. He lost a lot, and nothing could make up for that.

But they were a family who laughed at each other, cried with each other, and had proper, family style sit-down dinners that were actually enjoyed. Peter had a family, again, and he was secure that nothing short of death could separate him from this one.

* * *

A/N: Hey guys! Thanks so much to everyone keeping up with this story! I am viewing this chapter as well as the next arc as sort of a transition to the next arc of this story. Or in other words, I have some more fluff planned before Things Get Real.

Hope you enjoyed!


	9. LA part 1

Peter hated sunscreen.

Specifically, he hated the way it smelled, and he hated the way it made him smell when he was forced to apply excessive amounts on his skin. He hated sitting in the shade under the canopy, hopelessly watching the empty pool in front of him while he waited the thirty minutes for it to bind to his skin.

And so when Peter saw Tony abandon his station behind the grill and come at him with a fresh bottle of it, he ducked his head under the water and sunk down to the bottom of the pool. Water filled his ears before Tony could bark out any words. Peter heard the muffled versions of his name being shouted from up above.

He stayed under for as long as his lungs could take it, and when he emerged, he immediately wanted to go back under. Tony stood at the pool's edge, staring down at him, both unimpressed and still holding the bottle of sunscreen.

"Out of the pool," he told him.

Peter lifted himself out of the water, crawled onto the concrete and slowly stood up to face Tony, wiping his hair around, violently, as he did. Like a dog trying to get dry, except with the intentional of getting Tony wet. He blinked away a few drops of water, unaffected by Peter's ploy to annoy him.

"You need a haircut," said Tony. He shoved a bottle of sunscreen at him. "Reapply. It's been two hours."

"Fine."

He slumped his shoulders, turned and walked away, trying to figure out if he really hated the sunscreen, or if it was the helicoptering that was driving him insane. He was fifteen, almost sixteen, and he definitely didn't need Tony hovering that closely.

Peter joined Pepper and Ned under the canopy. Pepper wore sunglasses, and had her head in a book, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world, while Ned watched him with a grin.

"He's worse than my mom."

"Dude, shut up."

Pepper snorted out a laugh and turned the page of her book, paying attention after all.

Peter ignored Ned, reapplied the sunscreen, like Tony told him, and let his eyes drift back to the pool and the bright, sunny, California day that framed it. It was a perfect kind of day. Not a cloud in the sky, with the most fantastic smell coming off the grill, and Tony's old school music playing in the background.

A day like this couldn't be wasted by sitting out in the shade, on the sidelines, so when Tony looked down to flip the burgers on the grill, Peter made a move to jump back in the pool He was stopped, in his tracks, shot down by a glare and a spatula being pointed at him.

"Skin cancer is real, genius," said Tony.

"I'm Spider-Man, though," said Peter. "Can I even get cancer?"

"We're not going to find out. Get back in the shade."

He slumped his shoulders again, sighed, and marched back over to sit with Pepper and Ned. He grabbed a Gatorade from the cooler, and sat at the patio table next to Ned, longing for the days when Tony and Pepper would be too busy with work to hover, for the days when him and Ned would be left to swim, or do whatever else, without adult supervision and helicoptering.

Peter had big plans for those days of freedom. He had the entire city of LA, and his Spidey suit, and his mission to get back in the swing of things as Spider-Man before returning to New York. By that time, at least he hoped, he'd be ready for his real mission, hunting down the man who shot Ben and avenge his uncle's murder.

Tony broke him from his thoughts by putting a plate full of hamburgers in the center of the table. Peter didn't realize he was hungry until at second. His stomach growled, and he piled his plate high with food, eventually devouring three cheeseburgers before Ned and the rest of his family could even finish one. They stared at him, looking an equal mixed between shocked and confused, leaving Peter to only shrug in response.

"What?" asked Peter, his mouth full. "I'm hungry."

"I forgot what you were like with the spidey metabolism," said Tony. He looked horrified. "You should've been taking breaks for snacks."

Great. That's just what Peter needed. Just another excuse for Tony to mother hen.

He had a fourth cheeseburger, washed it down with some Gatorade, and idly wondered if Tony would ever teach him to grill burgers the way he did it. For the moment, he was happy to be a consumer, but he wouldn't mind Tony hovering if it meant he learned to grill hamburgers as good as the four he just ate.

Thirty minutes later, both Peter and Ned were back in the pool, just in time to watch the sun go down. It cast an orangish, turquoise glow. Peter didn't know nature had so many fantastic and beautiful colors, and he was definitely paying attention to them. He thought back to a time when he couldn't convince himself to have the energy to care about sunsets, and wondered if that made the colors brighter now, if passing through all that suffering made them more stunning.

When it was dark, they ventured back inside, dripping wet despite their towels, and drop dead tired despite desperately wanting to stay awake. They lost their fights, fell asleep mid-conversation in the living room, and didn't wake up until the morning.

* * *

"Are you sure this is such a good idea?" asked Ned. He was sitting up on Peter's bed the next morning, watching him as he stuffed his Spidey suit into a bookbag. "I mean, Mr. Stark won't even let you swim thirty minutes after you eat, what makes you think he's going to be okay with Spider-Man introducing himself to the streets of LA?"

Peter zipped up the bag. "He's going to be fine with it, because he's not going to find out."

"Peter- "

"Him and Pepper are going to be so preoccupied with work, they're not even going to notice- "

"Notice what?"

Peter shot up from the floor and turned on his heel. To his absolute, vacation ruining horror, Tony stood in the doorway, with an arched eyebrow, waiting for him to finish the sentence. Peter cursed the universe, cursed anything and everything that was wired in his brain that made it impossible for him to keep secrets.

He stared back at Tony, stayed quiet, and started to believe that the longer he lived with Tony, the better he got at these interrogations.

"Notice what?" Tony repeated, with more emphasize, emphasis that demanded to be answer.

"Umm nothing."

"Yeah, no. Try again," said Tony. Peter looked down at the bookbag by his feet, and Tony moved on. "Ned?"

"Ummm… friendly Malibu Spider-Man?"

" _Ned_ ," said Peter.

"He was looking right at me!"

Tony's eyes shifted between the two of them, before resting on Peter. "Uh, Spider-Man. Conference in the hallway, please."

Peter marched off to join Tony in the hallway. He held on to a little bit of hope that maybe Tony wouldn't care, that he would take pity on him and consider that he hasn't gotten to be Spider-Man in months and let him continue with his mission. It was false hope.

"Absolutely not."

"Come on – "

"No," said Tony. "No Spider-Manning in LA. Spider-Man stays in Queens, or at least in New York."

"But Tony – "

"Did you stop think about this at all? Maybe stop to consider how easy it would be for all the online conspiracy theorists to connect the dots about your identity when Spider-Man starts appearing in LA during the same month Tony Stark and his son are there, too?"

"Well, no," said Peter. He hated Tony's no, but he hated that he actually had a good reason for it more. "I just want to get back into suit. I'm out of practice."

"There will be plenty of time for you to catch up with Spider-Man when we get back home, alright? This is a vacation for you. Relax," he told him. He gave his shoulder a squeeze, started to walk down the hall, only to turn around again. "FRIDAY's watching you, when Pepper and I aren't here, remember that."

Peter frowned at that, wondered if he could somehow fool the AI, as he watched Tony disappeared into his and Pepper's bedroom. He'd figure it out. He'd get to wear the suit and fly between buildings some time that month. Peter was determined, despite the threat of conspiracy theorists, or paparazzi with cameras.

And he was pretty confident that he'd be able to pull it off, even with Tony knowing he was up to something, up until breakfast. The table was quiet, just the clicking of silverware against dishes, as Peter tried to focus on eating instead of Tony's staring at him, looking at him in a way that suggested he was mentally scanning through his thoughts and discovered Peter had no intention of listening to him.

"Let's do something fun today," said Tony. "Go out, see some nature."

Pepper frowned. "We're here to work, Tony."

"We have plenty of time for that," he said. "Our first full day here should be a family day. We can take the kids out somewhere fun."

Peter knew what Tony was doing, knew he was just trying to distract him and keep hovering and stop Spider-Man from swinging through the streets of LA, but he liked the idea of a family day. Even with Ned around to hang out with all day, Peter admitted, only to himself, he would Tony and Pepper when they were inevitably tied up with SI work.

Pepper wasn't hard to convince, and instead of somehow hiking a ride into the city with his Spidey suit, Peter and Ned found themselves loaded into the backseat of one of Tony's more spacious sports car, ready for family day.

* * *

Tony took the kids, and Pepper, to a nature preservation, and spent the day subtly taking pictures of Peter feeding kangaroos and sloths. It was decidedly better than how his day would have been spent otherwise, in and out of meetings, signing documents he'd only pretended to have read trusting that Pepper did enough reading for the both of them. And besides that, his family needed more photos together, of them off doing family things.

They needed videos, too, and that was what Tony was doing when Pepper approached him. He had his phone out, recording Peter and Ned on the last activity of their tour. They were swimming around in a pool filled with baby sea otters, playing with them, and letting them lick their faces.

Needless to say, Tony was more than happy to sit out on the sidelines and be in charge of the camera.

"Could you look any more like a soccer dad than you do right now?" asked Pepper.

"It depends," said Tony. "Is it a good look?"

"Definitely."

"Then yes, yes I can."

Tony pulled her closer with his free hand, wrapping his arm around her shoulder while they shared a kiss. Splashing from the sea otter pool broke them apart. Peter laughed, loud and genuine, as one of the smallest otters climbed up his chest and sniffed at his face.

"That's adorable," said Tony, shifting his eyes back to Pepper. "He's adorable. We need to make another one- "

"-Tony- "

"Just hear me out," he said. "I figure your DNA's strong enough to supersede any of the obvious Stark defects the baby would get from me, then we would have two perfect kids."

Tony looked back over at Peter. Him and Pepper were the best things that had ever happened to him, and he was ready for one more.

"I love your defects," said Pepper. "But I'm afraid any child we'd have you'd smother in sunscreen."

He glared at her, and she returned it with a laugh and smile.

"Or just smother them, in general."

"So, what am I supposed to do? Let him get sunburned?"

"Yes, then he'd learn, and he'd realize he should trust you when you tell him to do something."

Tony straightened the camera, making sure Peter was back in the shot. He was smiling, having fun, happy. He wondered how long that smile would last if the entire world figured out Peter Parker was the boy under the Spider-Man mask. Stopping Peter from his plans would be tricky, but Tony was determined to achieve it with distractions and obstacles that would earn the least amount of whining from the boy.

"If we don't have a kid soon," said Tony. He pushed down on the red button to stop recording. "I'm going to have to adopt another one."

Pepper rolled her eyes. "You haven't even adopted Peter yet. Officially."

Yet. That was a conversation looming off in the inevitable future, and something that would hopefully happen, just as soon as Tony worked up enough courage to ask Peter if he actually wanted to be adopted. It was a conversation Tony dreaded, but also, at the same time, a conversation he felt needed to be rushed into.

Adoption was permanent. No one, not even May if she decided to, could take Peter away once they went through with it, and there was always this tiny shred of panic that existed within Tony that life was just waiting to snatch up and steal one of the only truly golden things to ever happen to him.

It brought Tony back to his need to create distractions and obstacles, to save Peter for making a mistake would probably cause the whole world to learn his identity. That might have been a stretch, but with Peter, Tony didn't take any chances.

"Make sure you get a few more pictures," said Tony. "I have to go make a phone call."

Once he stepped away, he called in a babysitter. One that he trusted with his own life, and one he would have to bribe with something better than a bonus to get him on a plane to California in less than twenty-four hours' notice. Happy Hogan.

* * *

A/N: This one was a long time coming! Thanks so much for all your guys support for this story! It means more than you know. And I hoped you enjoyed!

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	10. LA part 2

"Please don't do this to me."

"It isn't up for discussion."

This reply from Tony was immediate, and final, just like the last few times Peter attempted to change his mind. His pleas weren't having any effect. Peter could tell. Tony didn't even look like he was paying attention to him at all.

He stood in front of a full-length mirror, straightening his tie and flicking his fingers through his hair, while Peter glared at him from the cushioned bench in the center of the closet. It wasn't really a closet. It was too big. It was more like a whole other room entirely, one that consisted just clothes and mirrors and jewelry, and for a reason Peter couldn't fathom, a rack full of expensive watches.

"I don't need a babysitter."

"He's not a babysitter. He's your bodyguard."

"Spider-Man doesn't need a bodyguard."

"Spider-Man isn't here," said Tony. "Spider-Man stays in New York."

Peter groaned, dug his elbows into his knees and gripped his chin with his hands. He continued his glaring at Tony, which continued to go ignored, as Tony stepped away from the mirror and grabbed a watch from the rack. He held it, lose, in his hand, and turned around to face Peter for the first time since his complaining started.

"Do I need to go over the ground rules one more time?"

"No."

Tony eyes darkened, with wisdom maybe, and he begun a speech anyway. "No tricks. No running off or getting lost or disappearing. No tormenting Happy, and absolutely no Spider-Man, got it?"

"Loud and clear."

"Good," said Tony. Now that he was satisfied with Peter's answer, he put his focus back on his watch, and began fastening it around his wrist. "Pepper and I have to get going."

"Why do you even need a watch? Here in the twenty-first century we have cell phones for that," said Peter, as he stood up from the bench.

"Really kid? I'm the futurist and you're telling me about the twenty-first century?"

Peter shrugged and Tony turned back around, back towards the rack of watches. He selected another one.

"It's not about functionality," said Tony. He tossed him the watch. "Try that on."

Peter held it in front of his face, looking at it with suspicion. He supposed if it were about functionality, it'd be just the same as the watch Tony designed for him. The one he conveniently left back home in New York. The one meant to track him and his vitals and anything else helicopter Tony felt like he should know.

"Is this going to spy on me?"

"Of course not," said Tony. "I have your cellphone for that. It's the twenty-first century."

Peter clicked the watch to his wrist. It was heavy, nothing at all like the plastic red and gold Iron Man watch he used to wear when he was ten. This one was real, and probably cost more than a year's rent where him and May used to live in Queens.

"It looks good. Suits you," said Tony.

The words were just words, but Peter immediately tagged them with light and gold and beautiful sunsets. It was pride, he decided, and it pulled at the corners of his mouth. He shut that down. Put his glare and frown back on, so Tony would understand the misery he was causing by assigning him a babysitter when he was fifteen-years-old.

"Don't look so sad," said Tony. He put his arm around him and lead him back through his bedroom and back out into the hall. "Would you rather stay in this house all day long, or get to go out and explore the city?"

Peter knew what Ned's answer would be. He hadn't stopped gushing about the Malibu house since they arrived, but Peter was used it. He wanted to see LA. He wanted to see it without adult supervision, and through his Spider-Man mask, swinging from building to building. It was the only way to properly see any city.

He didn't answer Tony's though, instead opting to silently watch him disappear down the stairs, on his way to Stark Industries. With a sigh, Peter headed back to his bedroom.

Ned didn't take his eyes off the computer screen when Peter entered. His hands were furiously working one of the controllers, and his concentration couldn't be broken, at least not visually.

"No luck?"

"No," said Peter. "We're stuck with Happy all day."

Ned didn't seem surprised or bothered by the information. He kept blasting aliens away in the game, and Peter let his eyes drift over to his desk, where his web-shooters lay nearly forgotten. It'd been so long. He needed to be Spider-Man again, but if he couldn't do that, he could at least put his shooters to good use.

He grabbed them from his desk, and created a hammock made from webbing up on the ceiling. He climbed the wall, flung himself inside of it, and waited for Happy Hogan to arrive and escort them around LA.

As he laid there, rocking back and forth up in the air, closer to the ceiling than to the ground, he stared at the watch on his wrist while he thought about all the ways he could escape from Happy. He decided a simple distraction was suitable. Getting caught was inevitable anyway, getting away unseen was his only priority.

When he heard Happy clogging up the stairs, then through the hallway, he carefully flipped over on his stomach to watch as he entered the room. He looked around and spotted Ned.

"Where's the other one?"

Ned mumbled something inaudible as a response, still focused only on the game, and Peter grinned as he flipped down from the ceiling. He landed, with grace, on his feet, just a few spaces in front of Happy, who jumped in place at his abrupt appearance.

"Hey Happy."

He released a breath, slow and frustrated, and looked him over. Suspicion was in his eyes already. It made him wonder what exactly Tony told him.

"Of course you were on the ceiling," said Happy. "Why wouldn't a teenage boy be hanging from the ceiling?"

Peter shrugged and tried to look as innocent as possible.

"Let's just go get this over with."

Peter shouted at Ned, who finally powered down the computer and started towards them. On their way out of the bedroom, when Happy wasn't looking, Peter slid his web-shooters into his bookbag before putting it on his back and walking out of the room. He ignored Happy's still suspicious when it returned to him, as if everything were normal, as if he wasn't planning an escape attempt.

* * *

As it turned out, Tony had left them with an itinerary, and the first item of the list put Peter in a barber's chair, staring at himself in the mirror while he was given the haircut Tony claimed he needed the day before. Paying for haircuts was still a strange idea to Peter. Back in Queens, May cut his hair, but he supposed going to the barber was an experience that was growing on him.

His hair was shorter and fresh and styled. He flicked his fingers through it a few times, declared it looked fine, then paid and tipped. He used the credit card Tony had given him, the one he normally never used, and charged something extra. When the three of them walked out of the barber's and into the California sunshine, Peter had a small white bag filled with hair products recommended to him.

"They… smell nice," said Peter, to Ned, refusing to admit it was about vanity, that he just liked the way it made his hair look.

The next stop on Tony's great plan for their day was this fancy pizza place, the kind of restaurant Peter and Ned would have enjoyed so much more without Happy or his bad mood. Every conversation stilled, even when the pizza came to distract them from the awkward, it couldn't completely make up for the fact that they were all miserably bored. It clear Happy didn't want to be there anymore than the boys wanted him there, so Peter sensed his opportunity, and he took it.

"You don't have to eat with us," said Peter. "Or hang out with us. We can entertain ourselves."

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

"I think you've suffered enough."

For a couple of seconds, Peter thought he had him convinced, by some miracle, but his dreams were crushed when Happy narrowed his eyes.

"Eat your lunch."

Hopelessly, he looked out the window, ate pizza in more awkward silence and made lines in the condensation with his finger on his soda glass.

There was one final item on the list, and when they walked into the building, Peter almost wished he was determined to find an opportunity to escape and be Spider-Man. It was an arcade, that went several stories up, and that awkward silence from lunch was replaced with the sounds of old game machines.

"This. Place. Is. Heaven," said Ned. His head was turned straight up, and his eyes were budging from their sockets.

Happy looked at him with a glare. Peter looked at him with envy.

He wanted to be excited like Ned. He was in an arcade with unlimited funds and his best friend. Tony knew what he was doing, knew all the best distractions, and it made Peter resent those parenting books he'd been reading. He wanted to forget about being Spider-Man, enjoy the arcade, like Ned clearly wanted, but he shouldn't.

Happy's phone rang, and before he answered it, he stepped off the to side.

Peter nudged Ned's arm. "Dude, you have to create a distraction."

"Are you sure about this?" asked Ned. "Look at this place, man."

"Positive," said Peter. His eyes locked on the to-go cup of soda in Ned's hand. "Just spill your drink on him. He'll have to go to the bathroom to dry off."

"I can't do that!"

They bickered back and forth, until Happy came sauntering back over to them, and Peter gave his friend a pleading look. Ned faked a sneeze, faked losing his balance and collided drink first into Happy's side, crushing the paper cup and sending soda seeping through Happy's suit jacket and Ned's t-shirt.

Ned took two steps away from Happy, saw his glare, and said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Happy."

Happy gave a slow exhale. "Next time Tony calls me I'm not answering the phone."

"Fine with me," said Peter.

"You," said Happy, ignoring Peter and grabbing Ned by the arm. "This way."

He stormed off, with Ned, towards the bathroom to clean up, just like Peter predicted.

So simple, so easy.

Peter sprinted back to the double doors, towards his freedom. He reached out to push the door open but paused at the sight of a watch on his wrist. It stalled him long enough for him to remember he'd made decisions like this before. They were the wrong ones then, and perhaps it was the wrong one now.

"Give that back!"

Peter turned, saw the voice was coming from a little girl, who was jumping up and down, trying to reach a toy lightsaber. It was held beyond her reach, by an older but still young boy. He wore a grin on his face that made him look like Flash.

"It's mine," said girl.

"Not anymore."

Peter let go of the door. Spider-Man helped the little guy. Even if that meant a child being bullied in an arcade. The streets of LA, he decided, could wait.

It was his easiest mission yet. It was a simple walk to the kids, an easier grab of the toy lightsaber and a graceful dodge when the boy tried to punch his leg. He handed the toy back to its owner, the boy glaring at him the entire time.

"Hey! That's not fair," he said. "I'm telling my mom."

He ran off as Peter laughed under his breath. The girl smiled, thanked him and walked away to find her dad, swinging the lightsaber round as if she were daring someone else to take it from her.

When Happy and Ned returned from the bathroom, Peter was swiping his credit card at the token machine.

"You're still here," Happy stated.

"Yeah," said Peter, with a shrug. "Where else would I be?"

Happy didn't smile, but his face loosened into less of a frown. Ned, on the other hand, was completely beaming as Peter handed him a plastic bag filled with the most tokens either of them had ever seen in their entire lives. Maybe they could salvage the day. Maybe Peter took get over having a glorified babysitter, just that one time, if it meant he could a day beating Ned at old school arcade game.

That was when it happened. Out of nowhere, a lady gripping her thief son's arm, stormed up to Peter and planted herself just feet away from him.

"Just who do you think you are?"

"Ummm…"

An answer was stuck on his lips, but he didn't have to speak for himself. Happy move in between them. The only sight Peter saw was the back of his suit jacket, until he shuffled to his side so he could see what was happening. One look at the woman's face made him thankful he wasn't dealing with the crazy alone.

"Is there a problem?"

"Yes," she said. "He stole from my son."

"What? No, he stole it from some other kid. I only took it to give – "

"-now he's calling my son a liar when it's obvious he's the one who's lying." The mother took several steps closer, eyed the bag of tokens in Ned's hand and made a move to snatch it. Happy caught her hand and blocked her. She blinked a couple of times, shocked, then moved on to outrage. "It's only fair. He took the laser sword from my son, so now my son deserves those tokens."

"No."

"What?"

"No he's not getting them," said Happy.

The mother's eyes turned to slits as she stomped on Happy's foot. To his credit, he didn't seem phased by it. The crowd of kids behind him, all with their cellphones out recording, gasped, leaving Peter to wonder how much a video of Tony Stark's ward and bodyguard getting into a confrontation would sell to TMZ.

"I'm getting security," she said.

"Okay but, he is security!" yelled Ned, as she dragged her son away.

Peter looked back over at Happy. He was bent down, trying to remove scuff marks from his shoe. Maybe Spider-Man did need a body guard sometimes. Maybe he could sort of admit he was glad that it was Happy.

"Thanks, Happy," said Peter.

"That's what I'm here for, kid," he told him, straightening back up. "To fend off the crazy, and no one is crazier than parents when it comes to their kids."

It was a statement Peter knew was undoubtedly true. For better or for worse. Peter was just glad Tony's type of crazy didn't involve harassing innocent arcade patrons.

Security did end up showing up. Happy showed them his identification, his credentials as a Stark Industries employee, and explained to them he would need to secure the building for the VIP. It took Peter a few seconds to realize that meant him. By the time he was done wrapping his brain around being a very important person, the mother and her thief-son were being escorted from the building.

The day, after that, was salvageable. They scouted out the prize counter. Picked out the ones they wanted to win as gifts and went to work on the games. Even Happy helped. Once or twice, Peter thought he saw him smiling.

* * *

Pepper and Tony were already back home when Happy dropped Peter and Ned off. They were in the living room, discussing dinner plans, when Peter interrupted them by sitting between them on the couch. He leaned back in the cushions, pulled is bookbag on his lap and started to rummage through it, eventually cutting Tony off mid-sentence.

"I brought presents," said Peter. He brought the bag closer to his chest when Tony tried to peer inside. The last thing he needed was for him to see that the Spidey suit and web-shooters were there.

He lifted a bunny plush out of the bag and handed it to Pepper.

"Oh Peter, this is so sweet."

"Excuse me?" said Tony. "When I get you a rabbit it's impractical and when he does it it's sweet?"

"I'm not going to justify that with a response," said Pepper. She wrapped her arm lose around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Pete."

Peter sent a triumphant grin at Tony before revealing his present. Tony, hesitantly, took a tiny helicopter toy from the palm of Peter's hand. Unimpressed, he flicked its propellers and watched them spin.

"Am I missing a joke here?"

"You know," said Peter. "Because you're like a helicopter. You hover."

Pepper busted out into laughs. Tony wanted to laugh. Peter could tell by the way his mouth twitched a little, and by the way he tucked the toy helicopter into the pocket of his suit jacket for safekeeping.

"You think this is funny now," said Tony. He stood up from the couch and began to walk away. "But just wait until both your birthdays."

Pepper and Peter looked at each other, horrified, and once Tony disappeared, mutually agreed that it was good they at least had each other to survive whatever horrible or outrageous presents Tony planned to send their way.

* * *

A/N: I have seen the trailer. I have seen the photo and I've been shouting all day about it. I'm not ready for Endgame! But it's so close!


	11. LA part 3

The people from the arcade, the ones with their cellphone cameras out, didn't sell their videos to TMZ. They posted them to YouTube.

It'd been funny, at first, hearing Tony tease Happy about becoming an internet celebrity, but then the views kept going up. The comments kept pouring in, and no matter how many times Pepper or Tony or even Ned told him to stop reading them, Peter couldn't.

His mind always went back to that video. His thumb opened YouTube automatically whenever his phone was in his hand. He never tried to fight it, knew it was a losing battle. People were talking about him, speculating about him, and he needed to know the rumors, even if knowing them was slowing driving him insane.

Even if it was distracting him from being Spider-Man, even if it was distracting him from the one event him and Ned had been looking forward to the most, the Star Wars premiere. Even if it meant ignoring Tony, who was invading his bedroom, attempting to get him to climb down from his web hammock to get ready for said Star Wars premiere.

Tony talked fast, saying things that bounced right off Peter's ears as he scrolled through the YouTube comment section. He couldn't understand or even begin to wrap his mind around why this video was so popular. The confrontation at the arcade wasn't entertaining. Not enough to warrant a million views and counting, but Peter suspected the view count had more to do with the clickbait title than it did the actual content.

 _lady harasses Peter Stark at an arcade_

Peter Stark.

The title caused his biggest problem, caused the speculating and the rumors, and probably, had spawned the comment section's favorite conspiracy theory. That Peter was Tony's biological child. That he was illegitimate, and a son Tony would never officially claim.

"Peter," said Tony. His head was titled, gazing up at Peter. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah, for sure," said Peter. He refreshed the page and looked for fresh comments. Maybe a few people to debunk what obviously wasn't true. Peter wasn't a Stark.

"Then get down here," he told him.

With an eye roll Peter knew Tony wouldn't see, he rolled off the hammock and fell with a soft thud to the floor.

"Please tell me you weren't looking at that stupid video again," said Tony. Peter couldn't successfully lie to Tony, so his silence answered for him, and after his silence, came an explanation. A full detailed account of the theory that bothered him so much. "That's ridiculous, of course I would claim you."

Peter frowned. He hadn't expected that would be the most ridiculous part of the theory to Tony. He expected that Tony would think, like he did, that the most ridiculous part was how easily everyone seemed to be buying into the idea that they were related biologically. The thought brought back the urge to look at his phone again, to check to see if there were anyone with common sense denying this theory, but he never made it past his lock screen.

"Ok. Enough. Hand over your phone."

"But- "

"It's almost time to go, and you need to get ready," said Tony. "Hand it over."

Peter gave up his cellphone to Tony's waiting hand, then allowed Tony to push him towards his closet, where his suit hung. He changed quickly. He still wasn't used to wearing suits, but the past months he lived with Tony taught him how to at least get it on and make it look decent. He paused at the tie. He knew how to put that on, too. He learned with May.

The memory was still there, and painful, even now that there was distance, even now that he was starting to feel better. He looked at the tie in his hands, then back at his reflection in the mirror, then made a decision.

A decision to erase that moment from his memories the same with May erased him from her life.

He walked back into his bedroom, where Tony stood still waiting for him, with the tie in his hand. He held it up.

"Umm I need help with this," said Peter. He wondered if Tony would call out his lie, would state what was obvious to both of them, that Peter had worn ties to galas and parties with him and Pepper a few times, and had never needed help before. Tony's eyes darkened, and he titled his chin up, looking at him as if he were trying to solve a puzzle.

"You need help tying your tie?"

"Yeah."

Tony looked at his watch and must have decided they didn't have time for an interrogation or follow-up questions. "Okay, come on."

They moved in front of a mirror, so Peter could watch and learn, and he did. He watched Tony tie the tie around his collar. He listened to him explain what he was doing, even though he already knew.

Peter stared into the mirror. At himself. At his fresh hair and his expensive suit. At the tie now around his neck. Somehow, Tony made it look better than Peter would have, anyway. From their reflections, he felt like he got it, how so many people believed rumors that he was Stark by birth. He wasn't exactly the same Peter Parker that lived in Queens anymore.

Maybe that was what the cameras captured that day at the arcade, and would again, in less than an hour, when Peter stepped out a fancy car with his best friend and new family. The world shifted under his feet, the room spun, and although his breath was still coming, he felt like something was choking him.

"Uh, maybe," said Peter, as he took a breath and will the panic away. "Maybe we shouldn't go. Maybe we should just watch it in our theater, here."

"What?" asked Tony. He gripped Peter's shoulders and spun him around, so they were facing each other.

"I mean, there's just going to be a lot of people there, and press and actors – "

"-That's kind of the point of going to a premiere, Brainiac," said Tony. He frowned at him, his eyes darkened again, and Peter felt guilty under his gaze. He didn't want to be ungrateful. It was a thoughtful and generous present. One Peter didn't feel like he deserved. "I thought you were excited about this. God knows I had to listen to you and Ned talk about this hotshot director and what you were going to ask him for hours – "

"-it didn't last for hours."

"Yes it did. It was the entire flight from New York," said Tony, and Peter sighed.

Tony stared at him again, the same way he stared at him before, like his eyes were scanners that saw right through him or were at least trying to. Before Peter could react, Tony had a hold of his arm and guided him to the bed, where they both sat down.

"What's going on?"

"It's just… I mean, the press is going to be there," said Peter. "And they'll be asking questions."

Peter thought it was pretty safe to assume videos of reporters asking Tony Stark questions with him in the background would spark a lot more attention and a lot more speculation. There was a part of Peter that knew he could only hide behind the conspiracy theory for so long before the world knew the truth.

He wasn't a Stark. He was just unwanted by his real family.

"This is about the YouTube video again," said Tony, and when he got no response, he continued. "Peter… that's going to happen. People are going to talk about you, and they're going to get it wrong and I'm not denying it's annoying as hell, but you can't stay inside because people have too much time on their hands and a keyboard under their fingers."

All that was easy for Tony to say. He'd grown up with all this. He was used to it.

"I'm not going to make you go, but listen, this is just nerves," said Tony. "And you'll be mad at yourself in a few weeks if you sit this out. Not to mention, Ned would probably kill you."

That was without a doubt true. He couldn't do that to Ned, who was such a good friend, and got so little in return for it. Between ignoring his calls, and not having as much time for him, Peter wasn't going to be winning any friend of the year awards. He owed it to him. He could deal with his nerves and anxiety if it meant Ned got to have a good night.

Peter took a deep breath. "Okay, let's go."

Downstairs Pepper and Ned were waiting for them. Ned wasn't nervous, like Peter, or at least didn't seem to be. He was jittery and excited and rambling about everyone they were going to meet. Peter gave a tight smile, and nodded, as they all walked outside to the car Happy had waiting for them.

He sent Tony a panicked look while Pepper and Ned got inside the car, but he couldn't read the one he got in exchange. Tony's eyes were covered by sunglasses, so Peter didn't know they must have had sympathy in them until after they were seated in the black car and Tony's arm slid over his shoulders.

Tony took off his sunglasses with his free hand, and offered them up to Peter, who took them, hesitant and confused.

"Put them on," said Tony. His low tone made it clear his words were just for Peter. "It helps. Puts distance between you and them."

With one skeptical look at Tony, he put the sunglasses on, and wondered if his earlier assumption that handling the media was any easier for Tony. He thought about all the times he saw Tony photographed in magazines wearing sunglasses, now supposing their purpose was the opposite of the watch. Not for style, necessarily, but all for function.

Arriving at the premiere was still stressful. Getting out of the car and stepping into flashing camera lights and an excited crowd still made Peter grip the cuffs of his suit, but it was missing an edge. There was distance. Peter didn't have to keep the panic out of his eyes, and for all the press knew, he was calm and collected as they snapped pictures of him helping Pepper out of the car.

In the end, Tony only stopped to take one question, from someone near the end of the line, who'd pointed to Peter and Ned and asked who they were.

"My son," said Tony, he pulled Peter forward by wrapping an arm around him. He nodded in Ned's direction. "And his friend."

"Yes, but… biologically?"

"Practically," said Tony, then dismissed them. All of them.

He pushed Peter forward, away from the crowds and cameras, and into the theater. Peter walked it with a smile on his face, because practically was vague. It was indirect. It was a confirmation, but also a non-answer. No doubt, there would be a lot of speculation by what Tony meant by practically, except now it seemed funny. Like the press and the conspiracy theorists were at the end of the joke instead of Peter.

The rest of the night was magic. It was shaking hands with the director of Star Wars, and it was having conversations with the actors, who were all just as star struck to meet Iron Man as Peter and Ned were to be meeting them. That, and the press being locked outside for the most part, made Peter forget about his stress, made him glad he hadn't picked staying inside and watching it in the theater at home.

And the movie itself was pretty great. A legitimately good Star Wars film, but Peter thought he'd probably remember the word practically over any other word of dialogue. Practically. Virtually. In effect. As if it were common sense. All those words were better than biological.

On the way home, when he didn't have his cell phone and the comment section to fuel his anxiety, instead he listed all the definitions of practically in his head until he was too tired to keep his eyes open. He slumped over to his side, head falling over on Tony's shoulder, and coasted into his dreams.

* * *

A/N: Hey! Happy Wednesday! I hope everyone's anxiety over Endgame isn't too bad! Please enjoy some fluff!

Just a heads up that I'm changing my username on here! If you're reading this and it's past Wednesday, it's probably already changed, but it's still me! Springtime22! Just a different name!


	12. LA part 4

**A/N: Happy Easter!**

 **A special shout out and thank you to Ramble_On for listen to me ramble about this chapter and who had the idea for Happy's gift in this chapter!**

 **Please enjoy and I hope everyone is doing okay pre-endgame. Actually I hope we'll all be doing okay post-endgame to, but anyway, enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

Peter stared up at the ceiling with his arms folded together across his stomach, and with a frown. His room was dark, Ned was snoring, and that meant it was almost time for attempt number three.

His previous attempts ended quickly, and without even a hint of success, but Peter saw no reason this one would end in failure. He'd waited longer into the night this time. This time he wouldn't be climbing out a window and scaling down the side of the Malibu mansion, like attempt number one, or simply trying to walk out of the house while Pepper and Tony were both still awake, like attempt number two.

He'd given up on escaping from Happy during the day, deciding it was more practical to wait until the sun fell and the house got quiet to head off into the city as Spider-Man. More practical, but less achievable. Tony wasn't as easily distracted as Happy, and he was just as determined for Peter to stay in bed as Peter was to leave it.

Attempts one and two both ended that way, with Tony sending him back to bed, and both attempts one and two made Peter a little more frustrated, a little more resentful. Attempt number three, Peter mused, still staring up at his ceiling, was about more than being Spider-Man.

He waited a few more minutes before slipping out of his bed. His steps were incredibly light as he crossed his bedroom, grabbed his bookbag off the back of his desk chair and crept into the hallway. Peter was extra careful on the stairs, took them one at a time, but all of his care and caution didn't amount to anything.

He stood in the foyer, so incredibly close to the front door, when he heard the unmistakable sound of Tony clearing his throat. He forced his head to turn, forced himself to look over and see Tony, sitting casually in the living room, a glass of whiskey in one hand, and his other shrewd across the top of the couch.

Probably, he'd been waiting for him.

Probably, he'd known about Peter's plan before Peter even knew about his plan.

"Got a hot date?" asked Tony.

Peter didn't answer. He clenched his fists and let his eyes wander back to the front door. He could still leave. He could just walk out and ignore Tony. What would he even do to stop him? May never did anything. She let him sneak out and pretended not to know about it. Tony stopping him was confusing. He couldn't figure out if it meant he loved him more, or less, or just… differently.

Tony made a motion with his hands, beckoning at him to come join him on the couch, and Peter dropped his shoulders. He looked at the floor while he padded out of the foyer, away from the front door and into the living room. Peter sat next to him, but left distance.

"This whole teenage defiance was cute the first couple of times," said Tony. He leaned forward and put his whiskey down on the glass coffee table in front of them. "But it's getting old, bud, and I'm tired of playing this game with you."

"Sorry to be so exhausting," said Peter.

Tony took a breath and released. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Peter leaned back against the couch. He couldn't remember ever feeling this way with Tony, at least not since living with him, not since the ferry, but he felt like he was in trouble. Like he crossed some invisible line and was sat there waiting for a verdict, so he kept his mouth clenched shut, like his fists, while the clocked ticked away in silence.

There was another tired sigh from Tony, another sip from the glass of whiskey he reclaimed from the coffee table, before Peter was back under his gaze,

"Why are you doing this?" asked Tony. "Why is so important to you to be Spider-Man right this minute?"

"Why does it matter?" Peter asked him back. "You're not going to let me go out no matter what I say."

Tony narrowed his eyes at him. "No I'm not, but maybe if you say it out loud you'll realize how idiotic it is to put your identity at risk just to feel like a hero again for a few hours."

"So now I'm idiotic."

"Twisting my words around to make it sound like I'm the bad guy in this conversation is inherently idiotic, yes," said Tony. There was a snap to his voice, an edge that told Peter he was getting closer to the end of his patience, and Peter was feeling just petty enough to go ahead and push him over the cliff. "It's also beneath you."

Peter shifted around on the couch, mentally reeling, trying to come up with something to say that would bite him back, but couldn't. Tony's last statement brought enough guilt with it that Peter just wanted the conversation to be over.

"… I guess you're sending me back to bed."

"No," said Tony. "I'm gonna give you a choice. You can come down to the workshop, and help me out with some upgrades, or you can go back to bed."

He was lost again, caught up between the temptation that was Tony's workshop and his desire to hold on to his resentment, to his need to make Tony suffer like he was making him suffer by not letting him hone his skills as Spider-Man. Tony was distracting him from his mission, that should've been his number one priority, but instead he's been off getting haircuts and seeing movies.

And there was a sting that came with feeling like he was being handled, like Tony read some manual and now thought their relationship was a series of the right commands on a computer screen.

"Did you learn that trick from your parenting books?"

"Hey," said Tony. "Watch the attitude."

"Whatever. I'm just going to go to bed."

He stood up from the couch and had almost made it out of the living room when Tony stopped him.

"You can leave your bookbag with me," said Tony.

Peter stopped, and spun around on his heel.

"What?"

"I told you, I'm tired of playing this game and I've given you plenty of chances. I'm not taking it forever, just until we get back home."

Peter was crushed. There was a building on top of him, and he couldn't breathe, but he forced out shallow, shaky breaths anyway, made his chest move up and down, so Tony couldn't see how much panic taking his suit away, for the second time, caused.

Glaring at Tony, he stripped the bookbag from his shoulders, dropped it to the floor by the stairs and retreated into his bedroom where Ned was still snoring. He slipped back under his comforter, crossed his arms across his stomach and stared up at the ceiling. He didn't close his eyes. He didn't go to sleep.

* * *

Breakfast the next morning was a silent affair. Only the sound of silverware scrapping against china, and the sound of glasses hitting the table after sips were taken, were there to fill the noiseless void. Peter pretended he didn't notice it was awkward or unusual. He kept his eyes on his food, and he ignored the way Tony occasionally stared him down while he took drinks from his coffee mug.

Peter was too tired for talking, and he was definitely too tired for arguing, which is what he was confident any attempt at conversation would inevitably turn into. He was still steaming from last night, from Tony taking his suit away and acting so self-righteous about it.

The first words of the morning belonged to Pepper, after she finished with her food, and announced she'd be spending the day with Peter and Ned, taking them shopping in the city for new clothes.

It was another scheme, another way to distract Peter from Spider-Man and his misery, and he was too tired for that, too.

"I don't need new clothes," said Peter.

"Dude," said Ned. "Your tennis shoes have holes in them."

Peter shot Ned a look, but he didn't even have the courtesy to even look like he felt bad about his comment.

"Think about it this way," said Pepper. "We'll get this over with today, we'll get your sizes figured out and by the time we're ready to shop for school clothes in the fall, you can do it all online."

Peter looked down and pushed around a few pieces of fruit with his fork. He didn't want to go shopping, he just wanted his suit back, and a nap.

"No pouting," said Pepper, as she stood up from the table. "You can ask Tony, it never works. If you stop sulking and hurry up, we can pick up that new Star Wars Lego set while we're at the mall."

"I'm not sulking or pouting," said Peter. "And I'm too old to be bribed with Legos."

" _Peter_ ," said Ned. His eyes had gone wide just at the mere mention of a new Lego set, and Peter dropped his fork with a sigh. He supposed he didn't really have a choice, anyway.

Peter stayed at the table, twisting a cloth napkin between his fingers, waiting while Pepper and Ned grabbed a few things from upstairs. He looked up and caught Tony during one of his stare downs.

"Hey," he told him. "You're mad at me, alright? Don't take it out on Pep, and… just try to have a good time today."

He stayed quiet as Tony stood up from the table, and left the dinning room, probably on his way to SI. It was amazing that Tony could even find the way to his own office building without Pepper, let alone survive the entire day without her. The callous thought brought a small smile, but it wasn't a genuine one.

* * *

Peter rested his head against the window as Happy drove them through the city and didn't contribute to Pepper and Ned's small talk. His mood made their conversation awkward, had been making their entire trip awkward, but Peter didn't have enough energy to care, even if he hated himself for it.

Their first two stops had been at department stores, where Peter moped around and was absolutely no help to Pepper as she pushed him into dressing rooms with stacks of clothes. They left the stores with the stuff that fit him, all of it, because Peter wouldn't offer up a solid opinion on what he liked or disliked.

He was lucky Pepper had good taste. Everything she picked out for him were things he could imagine wearing, and that, coupled with her patience, was guilt inducing. By the time they pulled into the parking lot of the outdoor mall, then got settled into a booth at a restaurant for lunch, Peter felt miserable.

Tony took away his suit. Again. He was tired. He was acting obnoxious and spoiled, and he could see the way he was acting was stupid, knew he would regret it later, but still couldn't stop.

"So," said Pepper, once their food arrived in front of them. "Where do you want to go first, Peter?"

Home. Back to New York, back to his real room in the penthouse, but he wouldn't dare say so out loud. He'd already disappointed Pepper enough in one day, so he opted to look down at his food and say nothing at all.

Pepper offered up a sigh. It sounded like disappointment. Like the thing Peter was trying to avoid but instead brought about anyway.

"Alright," she said. "I give up. I know you're upset, so maybe you just need space. Why don't you and Ned browse the shops and I'll just catch a movie."

Peter sat up straight in his chair. "A movie?"

"Yeah," said Pepper. "The theatre is doing some special showings of a couple old eighties movies. Nothing you guys would be interested in."

"We like old movies," said Peter. Ned nodded his agreement while he sipped on his soda. "We could… could we just come with you?"

"Sure," said Pepper. "If that's what you want to do."

It wasn't until they got to the theater and got settled into the comfortable seats that fully reclined, that Peter realized he might have been tricked into having a good time. He wasn't sure it mattered, anyway. The movie turned out to be Sixteen Candles. He'd seen it before. With May. And just like he'd erased his memory of learning to tie a tie for the first time, he pretended it was his first time watching Sixteen Candles, too.

Peter felt like a new person when they exited the theater, or just like a rested one. He'd fallen asleep more than a couple of times during the movie. Sleep, it turned out, was needed to function like a respectful person, and movies, well they were always there to help him cope with his problems.

On their way back to the car, where Happy was probably already waiting for them, Pepper caught him eying the booth where a man sold airbrushed t-shirts.

"Oh good," she said. She grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the booth. "Finally some clothes you seem interested in."

"No wait –"

"We need three –" Pepper stopped mid-sentence and looked at Peter. "Should we get Happy one?"

"Uh," said Peter. He saw it. The perfect trinket to bring back for Happy, hanging on a rack on the side of the t-shirt stand. He grabbed a white, fluffy cat car air freshener and pushed it towards the cash register. "No let's get him this!"

"That," said Pepper, "is perfect."

They shared a grin, and let Ned dictate what got airbrushed onto the t-shirts, before paying the man behind the register and walking off to find Happy and the car. He received his air freshener with both a grumble and a scowl, but as they drove off, Peter noticed he'd clipped it to the air vent despite his initial complaints.

Peter, Ned and Pepper returned to Malibu with smiles, and with matching t-shirts, and to Tony making them all dinner. It'd been better than breakfast. A few more words were exchanged at least, but it didn't matter. It didn't change anything.

That night, Peter still stared at the ceiling, and despite being exhausted, still couldn't will his mind to let him fall asleep.


	13. LA part 5

Peter tossed and turned, until he couldn't anymore, until he gave up, and threw his feet over the side of the bed and onto the carpet. He paused after he sat up, stared across the dark room and took a breath before he stood.

This decision to leave his bedroom and head down to the workshop felt like a surrender. It felt like losing, in so many ways, but the worst way was his hope that Tony's offer for him to help work on upgrades was still valid to cash in one night later. It stung a little that his hopes were worn down and crushed into taking Tony's compromise.

He was still angry with Tony, still fuming and frustrated that he couldn't just let him be Spider-Man, and that he still pretended to care about him more than May did.

But that didn't matter.

They were just vague and faint feelings as he looked down, watched his sock covered feet descend the stairway leading to the workshop. He'd have to ignore them, push them back even further, because even if this meant Tony won, Peter knew the workshop was still a better option than staring at his ceiling in agony all night long.

He stopped at the glass door, and waited for Tony to give FRIDAY to permission to let him in. A clicking noise told Peter the lock on the door had been released. He was free to step inside. With another deep breath, he sucked in his anger and opened the door. Peter stopped once he got inside, stood back and watched Tony as he worked.

Whatever he was doing, it was intricate. He used small tools to manipulate wires so small Peter couldn't see them, from where he stood. It felt like several minutes before Tony turned his attention to Peter, looking up from his work. He pushed his work glasses into his hair.

"Gonna stand there all night long or you coming down to give me a hand?"

Peter blinked a couple of times, then shuffled towards him. It felt odd, maybe just slightly awkward, being down there in his pajamas, especially since Tony still wore the same jeans he'd been wearing earlier.

Tony checked his watch. "You're up late."

"You too," said Peter, still looking at his jeans and his black t-shirt. Both implied he hadn't even tried to get some rest.

"Yeah," said Tony. He tossed the screwdriver on the worktable. "I couldn't sleep. I had somethings on my mind."

"Yeah, me too."

Tony gripped the edges of the worktable, and fixed Peter with a stare. "I don't suppose you want to tell me what's going on in there?"

Peter got the impression that if he started to spill, Tony might be able to sleep. He might not have so many things weighing on his mind, but then, Peter would be left alone in the dark, by himself, without any escape from blinking at the ceiling.

After seconds ticked by without a response, Tony nudged the side of Peter's head with the back of his head, and he almost smiled. It was almost back to the way it was before, before Tony had to flaunt his authority around and take his suit away for the second time.

"I – I don't know, really," admitted Peter.

He couldn't put it into words why Spider-Man, right then and there, was so important to him. Maybe it wasn't anything that was ever meant to be explained away with words, but rather some dark impulse. Something that would trigger dread and lost it wasn't followed. Something, Peter could only admit to himself, that he didn't have complete control over.

Peter didn't like thinking about motivations and triggers for too long. Spider-Man always led back to May, and she always made him think about failure, about Ben.

"Well, that makes two of us," said Tony, and Peter relaxed. A long paused followed, one that told Peter that Tony wasn't in the prying mood, and one that was broken up by Tony pointing to a screwdriver across the worktable. "Hand me that."

Peter picked up the screwdriver and handed it over to Tony, who had already slid his work glasses back over his eyes. He hung an arm around Peter and pulled him in closer, then used the screwdriver to point to some wiring and parts in the gadget he'd been at work on when Peter entered.

"See that?" asked Tony. He bent some metal back with the screwdriver and rattled off an explanation that Peter only mostly understood, or at least understood well enough to fire back with questions.

Keeping up with Tony in the workshop was a mental challenge, and one that exhausted him. It lured him right to sleep after only a few hours, on the little leather couch Tony had sitting off in the corner of the room. He wasn't completely out until a flood of warmth hit him in the form of a throw blanket being laid over him, and he didn't wake up until he was in the arms of one of Tony's suits, being carried off to his bed, with Tony trailing along behind.

He pretended he was still asleep as he was laid down on his bed, kept his eyes shut as Tony covered him back up with the comforter, and stayed as still as he could when he felt his bed shift with Tony's weight as he sat down next to him. Tony's hand brushed his hair off his forehead, then rested on his back with a quiet sigh.

"I'm sorry, Pete," he said. "I'm not doing this to torture you. I… just don't know what I'd do if someone figured out you were Spider-Man and used it to hurt you, if something happened to you and it was my fault…"

He trailed off, never finishing the sentence, but instead, rubbed his back a few more times before standing up from his bed. Peter listened as both Tony and the suit left his bedroom. As soon as he was sure they were gone, he turned over and sat up, staring at the door.

He'd always known Tony wasn't trying to make him miserable by telling him he couldn't go out as Spider-Man and then taking his suit. He knew Tony just wanted to keep him safe but knowing it and hearing it out loud was different. Still frustrating, but different.

Peter collapsed back down into his mountain of pillows, and closed his eyes, drifting off and deciding, just a couple of seconds before sleep took him, that he could let go of being angry with Tony.

Accepting Tony's decision, and choosing not to be angry with him for it, just made everything easier, even if he didn't like it.

The days went by faster, despite there being no more scheduled activities, no more forced shopping trips, journeys to the movie theater, or outdoor tours through nature preservations. At the most, they went to the beach, and at the least Peter and Ned floated around in the pool while Happy stayed inside and watched TV, no matter how many times they asked him to join them.

And the nights were always the same.

Just Peter and Tony in the workshop, not really talking about anything important, trading tools back and forth until Peter's eyes were too heavy to stay open and his brain was too worn to stay awake.

On the night Peter's world shifted, Tony had left him in the workshop on his own, with a quick word that'd he be right back. He fumbled around with a project Tony gave him as some sort of intelligence test, probably, when his eyes drifted across the room and over to Tony's desk, the one with his computers.

There was a stack of papers sitting on top of it. They were new, and therefore, an object of curiosity. His feet moved across the workshop automatically, without a conscious decision to do so, and before he could stop them, his hands were reaching out, taking the papers from the desk.

His heart jumped to his throat.

They were adoption papers. Letters with advice and instruction about the proceedings from lawyers. As he thumbed through them, he was horrified both by the idea that this was what was keeping Tony awake at night, and by the idea that he'd started this process without talking to him about it. He wondered if indecision was the reason for both, that Tony couldn't decide if he wanted to make this permanent. Peter hoped so. That would mean they were both the same page.

He wasn't stupid or delusional. He knew from the way May didn't come see him in the hospital when he was shot, from the way she changed her number and wouldn't even talk to him on the phone, that he'd probably never see her again. He knew it logically, but there was something still there. Something like illogical hope, that still hung on, only now just by a single, tiny thread.

Peter couldn't cut it away, no matter how badly he wanted it to disappear sometimes, no matter how badly he wished he could just forget about his old life and pretended it'd always been him and Tony and Pepper. But adoption, well that could crush it.

He just couldn't decide if he wanted really, truly wanted it to go away.

He put the papers back and ditched the computer in a hurry when he heard Pepper and Tony's bickering getting closer and closer. He settled back at his workstation, he grabbed the hammer he'd been working with, and pretended he wasn't paying attention to them as they entered the workshop.

Their bickering was normal, but on that night, it grated at his nerves. It pounded into his ears as he hammered at the metal below him. It made his hands shake, and the next time he brought the hammer down, full force, on his own fingers.

Peter cried out, dropped the hammer, and the bickering went silent. He cradled his hand next to his chest, but within seconds Tony was at his side trying to pry it away.

"Let me see it," said Tony. He continued trying to wrestle Peter's arm away from his chest, trying and failing to get a better look at the injury, but he wasn't strong enough.

"Don't be so rough," said Pepper. "Jesus Tony you're going to hurt him even more. Give him some space."

"No, I need to see it," said Tony, again, louder, and Peter swore he heard some panic buried beneath all the noise. "His fingers might be broken."

"I'm fine," said Peter, backing out of Tony's grip. His voice also came out forceful but panicked. He took more steps backwards, looked at both of them, and held the injured hand up. "See? It's _fine_. Relax about it."

The way Tony's eyes seemed to be popping out made Peter take more steps backwards, until his back was against the wall.

"What did you – did you just say to me? –"

"I have no idea where he's heard that before," said Pepper.

Tony cut a glare at Pepper, then marched across the workshop to where Peter stood and seized his hand. That time, Peter let him take it and look it over, but not without a loud sigh to make sure Tony understood how annoying he was acting. It took just a few seconds for Tony to release his hand and step away.

"It looks fine."

Peter gave Tony dead, I-told-you-so, eyes, that flickered back and forth between him and Pepper. He supposed this was his life now. These were his parents, and he'd known that, or at least he thought he did. The papers that sat on the desk made him grasp it on a new level, made it reality in a way it somehow hadn't been before.

He could feel it slipping. That last thread that was May and Peter, a family, and he still couldn't decide it that was good or bad.

"I'm pretty tired," said Peter. He tried to make his voice sound normal, but he read the room and knew he wasn't successful. "I'm going to bed."

He climbed up the stairs, leaving two very confused adults behind him.

* * *

A/N: I've decided that I need a t-shirt that says relax about it, because that has to be one of my favorite Tony Stark quotes from my favorite marvel movie (it's Iron Man 3, seen endgame, my favorite is still iron man 3) Anyways thanks for reading! Just one more chapter of the LA section in this story before we move on! And because I have no self control I'm also writing a homeless Peter au, so maybe that will be up soon? who even knows. hope you all have a great day


	14. LA part 6

Tony sat in his workshop, alone and waiting, waiting for something he knew probably wouldn't happen, based on how the last couple of nights had gone. He should probably just join Pepper in bed. He probably should pour his glass of whiskey down the drain and go to sleep at a reasonable hour for once, but he couldn't stop waiting, even if there was a part of him that knew it was pointless.

Peter wouldn't be joining him in the workshop. He would stay in his bed, where Tony knew, courtesy of FRIDAY, he wasn't actually sleeping.

He tried not to take it personally. Tony learned from the books that getting offended by teenagers acting out, or in this case, distancing themselves, wasn't productive. Still, he had a hard time not letting it get under his skin that his child would rather toss and turn, blink at the ceiling and count sheep all night than spend time with him.

Part of the frustration came from thinking things had been getting better. Tony thought they had made up, that while Peter was still obviously unhappy about not being able to go out as Spider-Man during their short stay in LA, he at least accepted it without any more anger towards him and Pepper.

Tony thought their nights in the workshop were progress. He thought they were helping to successfully distract him and mend their relationship, at the same time.

But he'd been wrong.

Peter was as distant as ever, would barely talk to him or Pepper during meals, and during the evening, when they were home, they saw him and Ned only in passing. Tony could only barely take Pepper's advice and let it go, pretend like it wasn't getting to him, but of course it was getting to him.

It made him feel like Howard. Like he was doing something wrong. Like Peter hated him and it was somehow his fault. It had to be, didn't it? If he was a good father, his kid would be able to sleep at night, or at least feel like he was able to come to him when he wasn't.

Tony set his glass of whiskey down on the table and slid a finger over the condensation. The dim lights flickered as he heard it. Light, careful and planned footsteps coming down from the stairs. He perked up, straightened out in his chair for a split second, until he realized those weren't the sound footsteps made when they wanted to be heard.

He stayed completely still on his chair as he watched Peter enter the workshop, as he watched Peter sneak into the workshop. He wondered why Peter didn't notice him, didn't hear his heart hammering away in his chest, unless his own heart was doing the same, blocking out any other noise in the room.

Tony frowned as Peter practically tiptoed to the cabinet that held his bookbag, and inside of that, his suit, and he raised an eyebrow when Peter gave FRIDAY the correct password and the door came open with a click. He reached inside and pulled his bookbag out, looking truly miserable as he did it, and Tony's heart ached.

Tony wondered, wildly, if Peter wanted to be caught. If he wanted someone to stop him from this impulse he didn't understand, or if he was just looking to pick a fight with him, looking for an excuse to say more cruel words with the intention of pushing him away even further.

He wouldn't participate in that. He wouldn't give Peter a fight.

Instead, he cleared his throat.

Peter startled, his breath caught, and his eyes went wide when he zeroed in on Tony. His shoulders fell, and his bookbag went slack in his hands. He stared back at Tony, unreadable and miserable and uncharacteristically silent.

And Tony couldn't take it anymore. This battle back and forth, the wall of silence, the avoiding, the Peter constantly and persistently attempting to do the one thing Tony didn't want him to, and had good reason not allow him to do it. Really, it left him with just one choice, one to follow the advice Pepper had given him back when Peter was happy and cuddling with otters, when his only complaint was being smothered with sunscreen.

Tony had to do it. He had to let the kid get burnt.

"Go ahead," said Tony. He waved his hand towards the door, gesturing for him to leave with his bookbag, but Peter didn't move. "I'm serious. Get out of here, go be Spider-Man."

Peter stared. He still didn't move. "Is this another test?"

"No," said Tony, though his tone had some bit to it, he was at least trying to sound normal. "This is me, at the end of my patience. If you want to go, then go, I'm running out of ways to stop you, aren't I? But just because I'm letting you do this doesn't mean it isn't a mistake, and it sure as hell doesn't mean I approve."

Peter shifted on his feet as the room became still, as the air became thick with heavy silence. He looked down at the bookbag in his hand, then back up at Tony. For a split second, Tony thought he might make the right choice, but that second was over fast. Peter's eyes switched into a hard glare. He backed away towards the stairs, before turning around completely.

"Whatever you're looking for out there," said Tony, causing Peter to pause on the bottom step, with his hand on the railing. "You won't find it."

Tony reclaimed his whiskey as Peter continued to stomp up the stairs. He'd expected him to go, but he hadn't expected it to hurt that bad.

* * *

Hours later, the panic set in, and Tony was beginning to regret his decision. He sat at the bar in the kitchen, with his laptop open, and his eyes glued to the dot on the map that was Spider-Man. His son. The vigilante. Fighting crime in a city he knew nothing about, and that knew nothing about him.

Tony scrutinized the dot as it moved through the city. Once or twice, when the dot stopped moving for long periods of times, Tony considered suiting up and bringing him home immediately. His mind with wild with admittedly paranoid thoughts.

Peter was strong and smart and resourceful and it'd take a lot more than a petty street criminal to cause him any serious damage.

But then came the less paranoid thoughts, like people with cameras and too much free time and over active imaginations. People who would connect the dots. People who could make a video or share a post, and get everyone questioning whether or not the orphan Tony Stark took in was Spider-Man.

Tony didn't want Peter's life to turn into more of a nightmare than it already was.

His anxious, paranoia kept his eyes on the computer screen, even when he heard Pepper enter the kitchen. Her feet moved across the kitchen floor, her arm slipped across his back, and her hair hit his face as she leaned over to get a closer look at the screen.

After just a few seconds, she straightened up and rearranged her hand on his shoulder. "Please tell this isn't what I think it is."

"You're the one who said we've got to let him make his own mistakes."

"I meant let him get sunburnt," said Pepper. "Or let him stay up too late before finals, or drink caffeine before bedtime, or literally anything else that doesn't involve our child running around in the middle of the night hunting down car thieves."

Our child. Tony grinned at that, but it was short lived. The rest of the sentence caught up with him, and they fell quiet while they both processed what had been said. It had nothing to do with LA, but everything to do with Spider-Man. When they got back to New York, they were going to have to deal with Peter being Spider-Man again. Somehow.

Tony figured Pepper had it easier. She had practice, and it wasn't until Peter that Tony truly knew what she felt when she worried about him coming home.

As if on cue, as if to confirm their fears were reality, a distress alarm sounded from the laptop.

"Talk to me, Fri. Tell me what's happening," said Tony.

"Peter's heartrate has increased, boss."

Tony and Pepper exchanged worried looks.

"Is he hurt?"

"He appears to be in emotional distress," said FRIDAY.

"Connect us."

"Very well," said FRIDAY. Seconds later she came back with, "Peter has declined the call."

Tony let out a frustrated breath. "Then tell him I said to get back here."

There was silence, and Tony was about to order a threat through the AIs, but then he saw Peter's dot on the laptop screen. It moved in the right direction, advancing slowly, but still advancing, closer and closer to home.

"Well at least he still listens," said Tony.

"Yeah," said Pepper. "Through commands via AI." Pepper put her hand in his hair and kissed his forehead. "I'm going back to bed. Somehow I think you got this one covered."

Tony watched her go, knowing she was right, but still wished he had her as backup. He didn't know which version of Peter was going to walk through the door. Defiant, unreasonable, or the version of him that didn't care enough to be either. Panicky Peter, or maybe an apologetic one.

His emotions were up and down and everywhere in between, and though Tony didn't know exactly what was going on in his head, he couldn't really blame him for being moody. Tony knew what it was like to feel abandoned, and it wasn't something that went away after a couple good nights with a new family, wasn't a feeling Tony could fix, no matter how hard he tried.

He gave an order to FRIDAY, one to replay the baby-monitor protocol footage. At least that way he'd have some idea of what was coming his way.

* * *

Peter stood outside the Malibu mansion.

 _His_ mansion.

He supposed that's how it worked. Once he was adopted, everything that was Tony's was his too. Not that it wasn't before, but adoption made it legally his. Adoption would make him an heir, would amend his birth certificate, and erase the family he had before.

The parents he lost to the sky. The uncle he lost to a bullet, and the aunt who left him because that bullet had been Peter's fault, because he was Spider-Man and should've been able to stop it.

He ripped off his mask and wiped tears from his eyes with his forearm. He blinked through wet eyes back up at the mansion. There were lights on in the lower level of the house. No doubt, it was Tony waiting up for him. He rubbed at his eyes some more, trying to erase the evidence of tears.

Peter needed to pull himself together. At least enough to make it past Tony, so he could go up into his room and cry silently into his pillow, hoping not to wake up Ned.

He took a shaky breath, willed the tears to stay behind his eyes, and marched up to the door. Everything was fine. He held it together just fine as he walked through the foyer, but it all crashed when he passed the kitchen, when he looked over and saw Tony hunched over his laptop.

Tony torn his gaze away from the screen, and looked at Peter, haunted and concerned. He was out of his chair with a hand on his shoulder before Peter could even think about blinking away unbidden tears.

"That wasn't your fault," said Tony. "You're fast, but you're not that fast."

"What?" asked Peter. "How did – how do you know?"

"Baby-monitor protocol."

Oh, right. Even when Tony wasn't there in person, his eyes were still with him through technology. It hit him in a weird way. He wasn't angry about being spied on. Maybe on a different night he would be, but then, right there, the helicoptering was sort of nice, sort of comforting.

But even that couldn't completely take away the nightmare of seeing a man gunned down on the streets of LA or having to deal with the truth that he failed to prevent it. He failed just like he failed his uncle Ben, and maybe that made May justified. Maybe she was right to cut Peter out of her life.

He insisted on being Spider-Man, but Spider-Man couldn't save Ben, couldn't bring him back after he died or rewrite his ending by saving others. Even if he could, the only person he had anything to prove to wasn't around. Not her body. Not even her eyes.

Tony's hand on his shoulder kept him pinned to ground as he realized, not for the first time, that he'd been running after May when he should've been paying attention to what was right in front of him. He wondered, with panic, how many times he'd forget, how many times he'd have to come to the bittersweet revelation that May didn't care, but at least he had a few solid people who did.

Peter stepped forward, locked his arms around Tony and bury his head in his chest. "I'm sorry."

"You've never had anything to be sorry about, bud," said Tony. His arm wrapped around the top of his back.

"F-for the way I've been acting. I- "

"Stop it."

Peter clamped his jaw shut. He really wasn't in any position to argue with Tony, so he just let him hug him and hugged him back and quietly appreciated how Tony seemed to understand he didn't need words to fix the void left by May. They couldn't. They wouldn't, and maybe nothing would.

Maybe that last thread was something unbreakable, something that could never be cut, or maybe -

"I saw the adoption papers," Peter admitted. He kept his voice low and quiet, thinking maybe Tony wouldn't hear him, but when the man shifted his feet, he knew he definitely had.

Tony stepped out of their hug, to make eye-contact, but held onto his arms. "You weren't supposed to. We were gonna to talk to you about it first, we were gonna wait until – "

"-I want you to," said Peter.

Tony frowned, and Peter knew him well enough to know what this frown meant. It meant confusion. It meant he was trying to put together a puzzle but couldn't see how all the pieces connected. It didn't happen often, and when it did, it was usually Pepper or Peter related. Tony understood robots but didn't always understand people.

"You do?"

"Yeah," said Peter. "Soon."

"Soon?" asked Tony.

Peter nodded his head.

"Okay," said Tony, but his voice didn't sound very convincing. "Uh, I'll make a call to my lawyers." He studied Peter again, with the same frown, then seemed to shake it off. He moved his hands up and down Peter's arms, as if he were trying to warm him up or dry him off. "Hey, let's do something."

"I don't really feel like going down to the workshop."

"Doesn't have to be the workshop," said Tony. "How about a movie? You've barely been in our theater all summer. I thought you and Ned would live in there."

Peter nodded, then went upstairs to change out of his suit and into his pajamas. He'd let Tony talk him into watching a movie, even though he knew what was really happening, even though he knew both Tony and Pepper knew the fastest way to get him to go to sleep when he was miserable was to turn on a movie.

When he got back downstairs to the theater, his theory was confirmed by the sight of Tony laying out a blanket over the recliners in the center of the room. With a sigh, he sat down on the recliner next to Tony's and got under the covers.

Tony put his arm around him, and he wondered if this was it. He wondered if an amended birth certificate and new legal status would be what finally cut all ties to May. If it would make her absence hurt any less. If it would erase her just like she erased him. He hoped so. He pinned all his hope to that, to being a Stark, because being a Parker meant not being good enough and it meant swinging around the streets in the middle of the night, looking for chances to prove that he was.

He shut his eyes, not even pretending to be interested in the movie, leaned his head against Tony, and fell asleep listening to his heart thundering away.

* * *

A/N: So that's it for the LA part of this story! Hope you guys have enjoyed it! The next part is just one chapter, but then I have one more multi-chaptered angst fest before they all become just single chapter - or really more like short stories set in this AU - type thing.

It might be a couple of weeks before I get the next chapter of this one uploaded. I'm going to finish my other story as well as work on another story I have coming before I start in on the next arc of this, but it'll back!

Anyways, thanks so much for reading and commenting and favoriting and following! You guys really are the best!


	15. brooklyn part 1

Summer break ended suddenly, but not dreadfully.

Peter was ready for his alarm when it went off on the first morning of junior year. His eyes snapped open, he rolled out of bed without pressing snooze, and went directly to his shower. He let the warm water finish waking him up, then got dressed in the clothes he'd set out the night before, after drying off.

His hair was still wet when he clicked his watch around his wrist. It wasn't really his watch. It was the same one Tony had let him borrow back in Malibu, but Peter hadn't given it back and didn't plan to. He liked that it was still Tony's. He liked that it was also kind of his now, too.

He pulled on his tennis shoes, grabbed his bookbag from his desk chair, and left his room in a hurry.

Peter was ready for junior year. He was more than ready for it to be a new, fresh start, for it to be a much better year than the one that came before.

Tony and Pepper were already up, moving around the kitchen. Tony was making breakfast, Pepper was behind her work laptop, but they were both talking fast at each other. A typical morning. Almost identical to yesterday. Still, it brought a smile to Peter's face as he joined them in the kitchen.

"Up and ready with time to spare?" asked Tony. Peter ducked away when he tried to mess up his hair.

"You'll mess it up and it'll dry funny," said Peter, as he grabbed a plate and piled it high with pancakes.

"Your hair always looks funny," said Tony.

"Because you're always messing it up."

"Don't listen to him, Peter," said Pepper. She shut her laptop and smiled at him. "You have lovely hair."

Peter sent Tony a look of triumph as he sat down with his food. Breakfast as usual. Same as the day before. Same banter. Same laughing, and Peter appreciated that. This wasn't new anymore. It was familiar. They were family, even if it wasn't technically official yet.

When Peter was done with breakfast, he rinsed his plate off and put it in the dishwasher. He allowed Pepper to kiss him on the cheek and allowed Tony to pull him in a half-hug, which turned out to be a mistake. He held on to Peter's forearm when he tried to bolt to the elevator.

"Not so fast," said Tony. Peter suppressed a groan while Tony went to work on his shirt collar, straightening it up. "Straight home after school today, alright?"

Peter frowned, and there was a protest on his lips. They had an agreement. He was allowed to go Spider-Manning after the school day ended, as long as he maintained his grades, his spot on the Decathlon team and came back at a reasonable hour.

"Just for today," said Tony. "We're having a family dinner tonight. For your first day back, and we have some news."

"News?"

"Something to tell you."

"Okay," said Peter. He adjusted the strap of his bookbag and backed away from Tony, inching closer to the elevator. He looked at Pepper, then grinned. "Have you guys set a date?"

For the wedding, for moving forward with the adoption, either or both. Peter didn't care. They were good things, and Peter could tell from the way Pepper's face lit up that whatever they were going to tell him later was a good thing, something to look forward to, not something to dread.

"It's a surprise," said Pepper. "You'll find out at dinner."

Peter sighed and told them goodbye before disappearing into the elevator and riding it down to the ground level. Happy had the car waiting for him outside the doors to the lobby, and as Peter tossed himself into the backseat, his eyes fell on the fluffy cat air freshener clipped to the air vents. As it turned out, Tony's watch wasn't the only item that came back with them from Malibu.

* * *

The hallways at Midtown were filled with reunion hugs, with everyone exchanging summer stories, and with excitement that only came on the first day. Peter knew by next week everyone would go back to hating Mondays and homework and the early alarms on their phones, so he enjoyed the atmosphere while it was still fresh.

He stood on his tippy toes and scanned through the crowd, looking for Ned or MJ, or at least someone he knew, but he couldn't find anyone. People found him, though. People that'd never spoken to him before patted him on the shoulder, asked how his summer was, noticed him.

It was nice, but he still just wanted to find Ned. They didn't have any classes together until after lunch.

Peter checked his watch and dropped his shoulders. He was running out of time, so instead of Ned, he found his locker and his first period class, instead. His shoes landed inside the classroom just as the bell rang. Technically, he was on time, but that didn't stop his new teacher from narrowing her eyes at him as he found the only empty seat in the back of the classroom, next to Flash.

While Ms. Prince took attendance out loud, running through the first day obligation of putting names to faces, Peter busied himself with organizing his book, notebook, folder, pens. He'd been distracted when his name was called, but he still managed to put his hand in the air.

He wasn't prepared for Flash, though.

"Actually, it's Stark now, Ms. P," said Flash. "Right, Pete?"

Peter glared at him. The adoption wasn't a secret, at least not anymore, and personally, Peter feared for the life of the person who leaked that story to the media. If they ever were discovered, they probably wouldn't survive the wrath of Pepper Potts.

She'd been prepping press releases for the days following their day in court, signing the adoption papers. It'd been easier that way, but as Tony explained to him on the day it leaked, sometimes being a Stark meant people didn't always have respect for privacy.

"It's Ms. _Prince_ ," she told Flash. "I'm sure Peter is perfectly capable correcting me himself if he needs to."

"Parker," said Peter. "It's Parker."

Ms. Prince nodded and her eyes went back to her tablet.

The thing was, Peter wasn't sure how much long his last name would be Parker. It was up to him. That's what Tony had said, after Peter asked if his last name was going to change just like his birth certificate would. He was debating it still, but never made much progress either way. Sometimes, the debate boiled down to thinking about what would hurt May more, changing his name to Stark, or keeping it the same as hers, to remind her of the child she left behind.

Then, he'd remember May didn't care about him enough to be bothered about his last name, and he ended up back at square one. He was stalled, just like Tony was intentionally stalling the adoption process.

"I just want to make sure you're sure," Tony had told him. "That you want this, for the right reasons."

Peter didn't know what the right reasons were and doubted they existed. There were no good reasons for him to be on his third family.

The rest of first period, he zoned out. He scribbled on the corner of his syllabus until the next bell rang, then gathered his things and bolted away from the classroom, away from Flash and his loud mouth that made him think about the stuff he tried not to think about.

He couldn't escape it, though. He didn't know why he even tried, or why he woke up that morning with expectations of a great year when usually feeling that way was an indication that something was about to go seriously wrong. And it did.

It always did.

On his way to his next class, he passed the front doors to the school. He saw her from the corner of his eye. He stopped, ignored the other students who'd bumped into him, and went back. Closer to the doors this time, closer to the little windows that allowed him to see out into the real world, he saw Aunt May.

She stood next to her car. The same one she left him in. Her head was leaned in the window, and she was talking to someone sitting in the driver's seat.

Peter's heart hammered in his chest, in his throat, and before he could think about it, he opened the double doors with a push and stormed outside. To do what, he didn't know, but he needed her to see this. Somehow, he needed to let her know how angry he was that there was still a part of him that was happy to see her.

He stopped on the sidewalk. May had turned, one hand on her car's window, but both eyes on him. Dark, watery eyes, as if had been the one who'd been crying.

"What are you doing here?" asked Peter. Here at school, here in his life. She didn't belong in either place, not anymore.

"I wanted to see you," said May. Her mouth moved up and down without any words coming out for several seconds, until she finally found some. "You look so different. So grown up –"

"Yeah," said Peter. He crossed his arms, the way Tony did before lectures, and wondered what about him was different. Whether it was the California sun still in his hair and skin, the clothes he wore, but then he realized, it was just time. "It's almost been a year."

She blinked, something like hurt flashed across her face, until it became blank again. "I know."

"You should've called," said Peter. He looked back up at his school. His next class had probably already started, without him. "You didn't have to just show up here."

"I didn't want to go through Tony."

"Why? He wouldn't have stopped you."

"He wouldn't have?" The question in her voice was doubt, but Peter couldn't tell if it was doubt that was meant to passed off to him, or if it just lived inside May. Maybe both. Probably both. Things were rarely ever just one way anymore. "Maybe he wouldn't have, but still, I just wanted to seeyou. I didn't think you'd see me here, but now you have, I think maybe we should talk."

Peter didn't have anything he was ready to say to her, but he supposed he could stick around and hear what she had to say to him. "I'm listening."

"It's all over the news that Tony's adopting you. And I saw a video online," she continued. "He called you his son on the red carpet."

"Yeah," said Peter, after some uncomfortable silence. He didn't know what she wanted to hear from him.

"He's not your father, and him and Pepper aren't your family."

He felt like the breath was knocked out of him, like he'd just been shot three times in the leg, but May wasn't done yet. She was about to give the final blow.

"I feel like he's stealing you away from me."

"He's not doing anything," said Peter. He surprised himself. At how strong his voice sounded, how certain his words were. "You gave me away."

"No, I never wanted to do that. Do you think I wanted this to be permanent? That I wanted to sign papers and get lawyers involved? That was Tony's plan." She blinked again, only that time she looked ashamed, like the words came out but they weren't supposed to, until her face went back to normal. It went back to being blank. "Look I know it was a mistake to come here. It was a bad idea. I'm going to call Tony, and set up a dinner or something, okay? Just don't – don't tell him I came here."

Peter didn't say anything. He didn't make any promises, but May waited for them. She stood in front of him meeting his stare for what felt like eternity before she told him goodbye and got back into her car. He backed up closer to his school as he watched whoever was driving speed the car off into the distance.

He watched the road for a while after her car disappeared. His head was swimming with all the words that was just aimed at him, and how none of them were what they should've been, what she said whenever he dreamed up a scenario where she came back.

There hadn't been any love yous or missed you or apologies. Just words that didn't make any sense, and a conversation he couldn't believe he just had in the front yard of his high school, on a day that was supposed to be a fresh start.

Peter didn't go back to class. He only made it as far as the steps leading to the front door, where he sat down and wrung his hands through his hair, threatening to pull it all out. Even if he did, it wouldn't hurt as bad May's words did.

* * *

Peter stayed sitting on the steps in front of the school until Tony's car pulled up and occupied the space May's had just twenty minutes before. He'd sat there, turning the conversation over and over in his mind, then he found it. The one way he could hurt May as much as she'd hurt him.

He'd called Tony.

He had answered on the first ring. "Peter, what's wrong?"

He hadn't wasted time with hellos or questions about why he wasn't in class. Tony had gotten right to the point, knew without explanation Peter would only call in the middle of the day if everything was alright.

"May's back."

"What do you mean May's back?"

"She showed up at school," Peter had told him, and still, he hated himself for the way his voice broke, the way it hung in the air for several seconds before Tony had said anything else, how it made Peter realize how much he wanted to cry now that it was safe.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm confused."

"I know, buddy, I'm confused too," he'd said. "Do you want me to come get you, or do you think you can make it through the rest of the day?"

He wanted to make it through the rest of the day. He wanted everything to be normal, and fresh, the way it was this morning before May had come and disrupted his life, for a second time. But there wasn't any point in going back in. He wouldn't be able to sit through class with May and her words rattling around in his mind, creating questions he needed Tony to answer.

"Come get me, please," Peter had said.

He watched the car come to stop, and on his way to get inside, it hit him. Everything was ruined. The day, his year, and it'd barely even started.

Tony's stare was on him as he shoved his bookbag on his feet and put his seatbelt on. He knew it well enough to know what his scrutiny felt like without looking, and he knew his silence well enough to know it meant he was waiting for Peter to speak.

"She said she didn't want to sign any custody papers," said Peter. He looked out into the road ahead of them but didn't dare look at Tony. He pulled at some loose threads on his shirt.

"Oh really, she did? She told you that?" asked Tony. Peter let his eyes creep over to the steering wheel. Tony was gripping it so hard his knuckles were turning white. "Did she tell you she just wanted to up and split? Leave in the middle of the night without saying anything to you about it?"

"No," said Peter, quiet.

His stare returned to his own hands, and he flinched when Tony hit the steering wheel and the car horn honked. This time, Peter waited for Tony to speak, enjoying the silence and wishing it would stay. He dreaded the revelation of any more secrets. He'd always known they existed. He always knew there was more to the story than Tony was willing to say, but now, he didn't want to know.

He just wanted to ignore it.

"Damnit," said Tony. "I – I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry Pete. I just – she just wanted to walk away and leave things up in the air and I couldn't let her do that. I couldn't let her leave you hanging. If she was leaving, I knew she wasn't coming back, and I knew you'd need something definite."

"She did come back." He sounded like a robot, one who whispered, one who wished he was lying.

"Yep," said Tony. "Look Peter, she came to me, in the dead of the night, asking if I took take you for a little awhile. I asked her how long, she couldn't say. She didn't know, but I did, or at least, I thought I did. It wouldn't have been fair, right? For you to just get passed around every time she felt like coming back home, so I told her you could come stay with me, but we'd have to make it legal."

Peter thought about things that didn't matter. He wondered which night that was, and how much time there was between May and Tony discussing his future and the day the papers were signed and she was gone, wondered about a world where he woke up and May was just… gone and Tony was left to explain to him that she might come back. Someday.

He kicked at his bookbag, pushed it further into the floorboard and away from his legs. The car was starting to feel very small as he was griped with a new fear.

"Tony I don't want to go," said Peter. "I want to stay with you, I can't live-"

"You don't have to go anywhere," said Tony. "I'm not kicking you out."

"What if it's not up to you?"

"It isn't up to me, because it's up to you. You're almost sixteen years old. You're old enough to decide who you want to live with, and there's not a judge in this city that would force you to go back and live there after she signed away her rights and went months without contacting you."

Peter looked at Tony. He wanted to believe him, but fear couldn't be reasoned away with logic.

"I would never let that happen, for someone to force you to be somewhere you didn't want to be, okay?" Tony's voice was so confident, Peter nodded his head, though he was still filled with dread and doubt.

He leaned back against his seat, and Tony started the car.

"What's the news?" asked Peter. He couldn't wait until dinner. He couldn't take anymore surprises, and Tony must've sensed it, because he answered.

"Our attorney called," said Tony, as he pulled out into the street. "We have a date. For your adoption hearing."

"Oh."

He tried to imagine a world where he heard that at dinner, for the first time, after getting through his first day of junior year unscratched. He couldn't. That world seemed so far away.

* * *

A/N: soooooooo this is the last multi chaptered arc thing in this series, until they all become one-shots, so please enjoy the on-coming angst fest

thanks for reading!


	16. brooklyn part 2

_Dude where are you_

Peter blinked at his cellphone, then let it fall from his hand and into the folds of his comforter. His focus, his ears, belonged with Tony. He was pacing back and forth in the dining room. His heart was hammering around in his chest, fast and strong, and every word out of his mouth was venomous and sharp.

He wasn't supposed to be listening. Tony had sent him to his room, but he'd been so worked up, he must've forgotten that spiders hear everything.

"You were depressed and overwhelmed when you left," Tony snapped into his phone. "But you weren't this stupid."

His phone lit up with another text from Ned.

 _Are you still at school?_

Peter checked the time. If he were still at Midtown, he'd be at lunch, which meant Ned was wondering around the cafeteria, looking for him. Suddenly guilty, he picked up his phone and sent a quick message.

 _No sorry, had to go home, explain later_

He dropped his phone back into the sheets.

"Damn right you changed, you used to want what was best for Pete, suddenly that's gone out the window, hasn't it?"

Best for him. He thought back over the past couple of months, over the time he'd spent with Tony and Pepper. They were what was best for him, but only because May abandoned him. Best for him would've been May sticking around. Best for him would've been a phone call when he was stuck in the hospital with a broken heart and a gunshot wound.

"No, that's not what I said," said Tony. His voice was getting louder, and Peter wondered if he'd still be able to hear him without his spidey powers. "Of course you can see him but you can't just show up at his school like that, without a warning and without giving him a chance to prepare."

More pacing, more aggressive footsteps that were absorbed into the carpet but were still powerful enough to echo around in Peter's ears.

"Well he obviously did see you."

Peter sat up on his bed. He couldn't listen to it anymore, especially when it was easy to fill in the blanks and come to the conclusion May was just giving Tony the same story she'd given Peter back at school. He crossed his room and searched his desk drawers for his headphones, the big ones that he'd never taken out of the box.

When he first moved in with Tony, his bedroom came stocked with expensive things Tony assumed a teenager would want. Fancy electronics, a new computer, a giant TV with every video game console imaginable. Most of them he never used, not once, but that was about to change.

He ripped the headphones from the protective plastic and connected them to his phone. He put them over his ears, turned up the volume, and collapsed on his bed, burrowing his head under the pillow.

Music drown out the noise of Tony on the phone, of his footsteps and his heart, and Peter tried to get lost in his own thoughts. They weren't a much better place to be, so instead he just shut his eyes and hoped that sleep would come. It never did. He didn't know how long he'd been lying there, hiding under his pillow, when he was coaxed up by a hand shaking his shoulder.

He sat up again, turned around, and slid the headphones down to rest on his neck.

"How are you feeling?" asked Tony. His face was creased with worry, and the anger that was in his voice earlier had completely disappeared, like magic.

"I don't know."

"Yeah, it's a lot to process," said Tony. He looked down at the sheets, then back up at Peter. "Listen, they want to come over for dinner on Saturday. I told her I'd have to check our schedules first, so now I'm asking you, are we busy?"

"They?"

"May," said Tony. "And her boyfriend."

Peter frowned and wondered how and when that had happened. How long did it take for her to find a new life after she abandoned her old one in New York? He wondered if she thought about Ben, or if she'd forgotten about him, too.

"I can tell her no, or that we're busy, and we can put it off until you're ready," Tony offered. He looked at him and waited for an answer, and Peter, for all his wishing to be old enough to make his own choices, now wanted Tony to decide for both of them.

"No, she should come," said Peter. He didn't really want her to, and he definitely didn't want her to bring her boyfriend, but he figured that was the grown-up decision. "We should probably all talk, right?"

"Sure, buddy," said Tony, "I'll let her know."

Peter slid the headphones back over his ears as he watched Tony leave his room and tried not to think about the way his voice had dipped when he had called him buddy. That usually never meant anything good. That nickname was reserved for distressing, sad moments, but Peter didn't feel distressed or sad.

He felt nothing at all.

That was a choice he made. He wasn't going to allow May coming back to mess with his plans.

There were four full days between then and Saturday, and he saw no reason why he couldn't just pretend she was still gone, and everything was normal.

He pressed play on his song and disappeared back under his pillow.

Saturday. He'd deal with it on Saturday.

Except pretending that nothing had changed got pretty difficult the next morning at school. Ned waited for him by his locker, and as Peter unzipped his bookbag and put his combination in, he asked his questions. Peter didn't have a chance to answer any of them before he went on to the next.

Finally, he ended with, "There's this rumor going around that you were yelling at some lady outside the front doors."

"What?" asked Peter, his bookbag swung in his hands, still half-open. He shoved his textbook inside and shut his locker, hard. "I wasn't yelling!"

Everyone else in the hallway froze, stopped talking, and let Peter's declaration waft around in the air. Heads turned. All eyes were on the two of them, as Peter struggled to zip his bookbag and shoulder it. Once he had it secured on his back, Peter stared back at his classmates, flicking his eyes between them, daring them to voice their own questions. No one said anything, and after a couple of long seconds, everyone went back to their own business, to their own conversations.

"You mean like you're not yelling right now?" Ned said, in a quiet than usual voice. "So, who was the lady? That you were talking loudly at?"

"May," said Peter. "She's back."

Ned's chin dropped, and he opened his mouth to say something, but the warning bell cut him off. Peter brushed past him, eager to get to class and distract himself with school work.

* * *

The rest of the week zipped by and days passed exactly the way Peter wanted them to.

With May pushed into the very back of his thoughts, he could focus on school. His classes were fun and challenging and required the perfect amount of attention to keep his mind from wandering down the path Peter didn't want to go. They were the perfect distraction. They kept him busy.

At lunch and in the halls, stares and whispers followed him, but that didn't bother Peter like they used to. People would stare. People would entertain themselves by making up stories about what they thought was going on in his life, simply because he was about to be a Stark. He was used to it.

Besides, if it ever got to be too much, he had Spider-Man. He'd put on his mask and stop a few robberies and the universe would feel alright. He'd wander back to the penthouse when it got close to curfew. Going home was never a chore. Going home after a good, productive patrol was sometimes better than the patrol in itself.

Tony or Pepper or both of them would always be there, waiting with dinner and waiting to hear about his evening out on the streets Spider-Manning. Dinner was filled with talks about school and the possibility of the rogue Avengers returning and some guy Pepper had to fire on the spot after he dared to drop a string of inappropriate comments.

They never brought up May, and Peter hoped that meant they were all on the same page, until the morning before the dinner arrived.

Peter had thought he could avoid it. He stalled around in the hallway for as long as he could, playing with the strap of his bookbag and waiting for the right second to make a run for the elevator, but he wasn't so lucky. He was just a few feet away from the elevator doors when he was halted by Tony's yell.

"Hold it right there."

He froze, his arm outstretched and his fingers so close to the elevator call button he could almost feel the cool steel on his fingertips.

"Where are you going?" asked Tony. He marched over from the kitchen and stood in front of him.

"Uh," said Peter. He let his hand fall away from the call button. It was a lost cause now that the questioning had began. "I'm gonna go hang out at Ned's. Then do some patrolling."

"Okay, well dinner is at seven, so try to be back sometime before then, alright?"

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"I just, I didn't think we were still doing that."

Tony narrowed his eyes and had that same funny expression he wore the night Peter had told him he wanted to be adopted. Gears turned behind his eyes. Peter was a puzzle he was trying to solve.

"What do you mean?"

Peter shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal, like thinking about this dinner didn't make his world spin. "I just figured she'd probably want to call and cancel, and you haven't said anything about it all week I just thought maybe we decided it wasn't worth the trouble when she's probably not even going to show up."

"She sounded pretty certain on the phone." His expression didn't change, and Peter shifted his feet under the scrutiny, then made a big deal about checking his watch.

"I told Ned I'd be over there in thirty minutes."

"Okay, but six, alright? Be back at six."

"Yeah, okay," said Peter, nodding his head up and down, and finally jamming his fingers against the button that would bring him his escape.

* * *

Peter wasn't back at six. He wasn't even back at seven.

He stayed sitting on a building in Queens, ignoring Tony's worried texts and eating a second sandwich from Delmar's until so much time had ticked away, it'd be impossible for him to get back to the penthouse by seven.

His phone buzzed in his pocket as he rode the elevator up to the penthouse at exactly 7:12 PM. He ignored it, and when the doors slid open, they revealed Tony standing in the foyer, with his cellphone pressed up against his ear. He pulled it away and dropped it in his pocket when his eyes fell, and narrowed, on Peter.

He gave him a look that made Peter want to jump back inside the elevator and ride it back down to the lobby.

"Where have you been?" asked Tony. "Why weren't you answering your phone?"

"I know I'm late –"

"I don't care that you're late, jesus, kid, I thought something might have happened to you."

"I'm sorry, I –" Peter stopped, thought about what he was going to say, then changed his mind. He couldn't say he was just trying to hurt May, not get Tony worried, aloud, without acknowledging that was exactly what he'd hoped to do. "Lost track of time."

"Uh huh," said Tony. He grabbed Peter's arm and walked him towards the dining room, where Pepper, May and a man with dark hair and a sweater vest stood around the table. May's new boyfriend, Peter guessed.

He took one look at him and knew May could do better. Anyone that wasn't Ben wasn't good enough, but that speed his thoughts off into a dangerous place, a place he spent the week trying to avoid. Maybe sweater vest was good enough for this version of May. Maybe if Ben were still alive, he'd be too good for this version of her, the one who'd abandon him.

If Ben were still alive, these questions wouldn't matter, because May never would have left and they'd all still be a family. Seeing May like this, nervous and standing next to a sweater vest, made it clear that family was dead. That family was buried with Ben.

The smell of whatever Tony and Pepper decided to serve for dinner assaulted his sense, brought bile to this throat. Those sandwiches from Delmar's were making a comeback.

The edges of May's figure blurred as she stepped closer to him and the noise in the room amped up. His thoughts, the ones he didn't want to think, couldn't be pushed back anymore, and each step she took closer to him brought more of them rattling to the surface, until they exploded all at once.

May left him, she came back, and she was ruining everything.

Peter needed to run, needed to get away from May and to his bedroom, before he had to sink to his knees and put his head between his legs to get the noise to stop.

A weight pressed on his shoulder, and Peter released a shaky breath. His world came back into focus, the noise in the room went back to normal, as Tony's grip tightened. Peter couldn't figure if Tony was offering him his support, or if he was holding onto him, as if he were a small child and May was about to snatch him and run.

"Peter," said May. She shuffled her feet as she looked him up and down. "It's, um, so good to see you again. I know last time we saw each other is was, well a disaster, and that was my fault. I'm sorry. I should've known better to have just showed up like that."

Peter blinked at her. "Okay."

He didn't know where or how to file that information, but he had a flashback to the ferry disaster, to Tony shouting at him that sorry didn't cut it. He wished his words were as forceful as Tony's, maybe then he'd be voicing them unless of enduring the awkward silence that fell over all of them.

"I have someone I'd like you to meet," said May. The man wearing a sweater vest pushed his glasses up from his nose and walked over to where they stood. "This is Greg. We've been seeing each other."

Greg stuck his hand out for Peter to shake, but he only stared at it. "May's told me so much about you. It's good to meet you, Pete."

"Peter," he corrected. He didn't know this man well enough for him to come at him and start calling him nicknames.

"Oh, sorry," said Greg. He wiped his hand on his khakis and pretended that's what he'd been going for along. "Peter. I hear you're on the Decathlon team at school. How's that going?"

Peter stared at him and wondered what else this stranger knew about him. That didn't seem fair. May got to walk out of his life and spread his personal information to people he didn't even know.

"You're a pretty quiet boy, huh?" asked Greg. "You know in all those stories May told about you, she left the impression you were pretty talkative."

The bile in his throat came back, the walls in the apartment were getting smaller, and Peter couldn't take it anymore. He needed to run, but since Tony's hand was still on his shoulder, he did the next best thing. He turned and looked up at him.

"I feel sick," he told him, and watched Tony's face crease. "Can I go lay down in my room?"

Tony's hand moved from his shoulder to his forehead. "Well you do feel a little warm. Yeah, uh, yeah you should rest."

With a mumbled goodbye to just May, Peter bolted to the hallway, silently thanking the stars for Tony's willingness to go along with his lie.

He had FRIDAY dim the lights in his room while he laid face up on his bed. He listened to the conversation that was happening around the dinner table. Most of the time, Tony's voice was absent, and it was just Pepper keeping the conversation going. She was engaged to Tony. She was used to giving second, third, and fifteenths chances.

She waited until May and Greg got into the elevator and the doors slid shut on them to voice her real opinion. She hated Greg. She called him shady and wondered out loud to Tony why someone like May was doing with a guy like him.

Peter turned on his side. His aunt, and the shady sweater vest. Together. It should've made him angry, but Peter just felt numb.

* * *

When Peter wandered down to the workshop later that night, it was abnormally quiet. Usually it was filled with the sounds of hammers, metal, blow torches, or Tony muttering at DUM-E. Not that night.

Peter stepped out of the elevator and found Tony sitting at the workstation, spinning a pen through his fingers, and studying a pile of papers in front of him. His head jerked up as Peter walked closer.

"Dropping the sick act, huh?"

Peter shrugged and lifted himself up onto the workstation with the backs of his hands. "We both knew I'm not really sick."

"Yep, and we're not the only ones," said Tony. He dropped the pen and stared at him. "Pete this was your decision, if you didn't want to do this, all you had to do was tell me and I would've cancelled. No one wants to push you into doing anything you're not ready for."

"I know," said Peter. Tony had made that perfectly clear. "I just, I thought I _was_ ready, that I should be ready, at least." He looked down at his hands, then back at Tony. "Are you mad?"

"No."

"Disappointed?"

"No," said Tony. "I'm just sad, Peter. I understand you're hurt and I don't know how to help you."

"You help."

Tony gave him a pained smile. One that communicated very clearly that he didn't believe him.

"Remember when you took me to the house in Malibu for the first time?"

"And I made you climb up on the roof in a down pour and you fell?"

Peter laughed. At the time, he felt like it was the end of the world. He fell off the roof and he'd broken his phone and that was his last physical lifeline to his old life. It'd felt like everything. It'd felt big and miserable, but now, it seemed so small, so far away.

"But then you built an actual Death Star to make up for it."

"Yep, and I've regretted it ever since," said Tony. "You're gonna blow us all up with that thing one day."

Peter rolled his eyes but kept his smile. He'd been miserable in the workshop the day they built the Death Star. Looking back now, he missed it. Even if he had fallen off the roof, it'd been a fun getaway, and Tony had tried his best. He was still trying his best, even if he didn't always know what to do.

"Maybe tonight we can build a lightsaber."

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?" asked Peter, with a whine. He kicked his feet against the side of the workstation but regretted it. The dramatics weren't worth the pain shooting through his foot, and the look on Tony's face told him he wasn't going to be offering an explanation. "If we can't build a lightsaber, can we build a TIE fighter that flies around and shoots things?"

"We? You're sick, remember? You need your bedrest."

Peter titled his head at him. "Tony come on, you know that was fake."

Tony gave him a hard, studying look, then sat up straighter. "Ok I'll make you a deal. I'll help you make your toy –"

"-it's not a toy."

"I'll help you make your remote-control spaceship," Tony mended, but somehow, it didn't improve upon the previous word choice. "If you stick around the penthouse tomorrow."

Peter deflated and slouched where sat on the workstation. Sundays were supposed to be free days, and he sort of already planned on hanging out with Ned and MJ and spending some extra time as Spider-Man. It was a huge sacrifice for just a TIE fighter.

"You're grounding me?"

"No, you haven't done anything wrong," said Tony. "It's a suggestion, cause you need to relax a little bit. You've been running yourself to death all week, you need to chill out and think through some things."

Thinking about things was exactly what Peter was trying to avoid with all his homework and Spider-Manning and talks about TIE fighters. He didn't have to say it out loud. Tony already knew, or he wouldn't be offering him this deal.

Peter didn't know if he was capable of slowing down long enough to process, of feeling something instead of feeling numb, but he accepted Tony's deal, anyway. He told himself it was for the TIE fighter, and because Ned would never let him forget it if he knew he had the opportunity to build more Tony Stark approved Star Wars gadgets and didn't take it. He told himself lies, because it felt better than acknowledging the truth.

That May was back, and that was a fact that was getting harder and harder to ignore.

* * *

A/N: hey guys! i know it's been forever, i took some time off writing because I was feeling pretty burnt out on it, but im back now! the rest of these updates should start coming faster, im aiming for once a week, thanks for being patient and i hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	17. brooklyn part 3

Peter laid faceup on his carpet and watched his new TIE fighter fly around his bedroom. It was set to automatic, so it zipped around and soared through the air unprompted from the remote Tony helped him design. Occasionally, it shot out blasts of water, and each time Peter thought about what could've been.

He'd wanted lasers. Tony insisted on making the blasters simple water guns.

"Safety first," he'd recited, and that had made Peter roll his eyes.

Tony seemed to only consider safety whenever he or Pepper were involved, and besides that, Peter would've settled for laser lights, but apparently those weren't safe, either. Something about eyesight and going blind and a lot of other safety propaganda Peter hadn't been paying attention to.

He checked the time on his phone. It still wasn't even noon yet, and he was bored, thoroughly looking forward to tomorrow morning when he could at least go to school. His eyes shifted back towards the TIE fighter, zipping around near his ceiling. It was pretty cool, Ned would have a meltdown when he saw it, but in that moment, Peter felt like he'd gotten the bad end of the deal.

Maybe a TIE fighter replica wasn't worth sitting around home all day, thinking about things he didn't want to think about.

He pushed himself up off the floor and wondered if it'd really be such a terrible thing to back out of his deal with Tony. He didn't know if Tony would ground him in any real way. He hadn't ever in the past, but he wasn't sure that even matter. He feared the man's disappointment more than he feared his wrath.

Peter pursed his lip. He supposed it was up to what he feared most. Was it the place his mind and his heart would take him if he gave his brain too much time to think, or Tony's look of disappointment? With a sigh, he grabbed his shoes from his closet, pulled them on, and left his bedroom.

He expected his escape to be easy. Tony wasn't home. He had some meeting to attend, something regarding the Avengers and government stuff, and that had made Peter hopeful. He could go out and be back again, before Tony ever found out, but he shouldn't have been so optimistic.

Pepper was still home, and she was planted between him and the elevator, wearing a smile and a raised eyebrow.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Umm, I just," said Peter, then let out a breath. "Nowhere."

"I thought so," said Pepper. "Tony told me about your deal. He bet you'd try to be out here by eleven, but I had more faith. I said one."

Peter frowned. He didn't know what it meant that Tony expected him to break their deal but made it anyway.

"I was just about to attempt baking this cake I saw last night on a cooking show," said Pepper. "It'll probably turn into a disaster, but maybe you'd like to help?"

"Yeah, sure," said Peter. He didn't have anything better to do, since he was stuck at the penthouse all day, so he followed her into the kitchen.

As it turned out, baking a cake with Pepper was the perfect distraction, even if it did turn into a disaster, just as she said it would. Pepper had more experience with business and managing then she did with a kitchen, and Peter had more experience working with tools and punching bad guys.

By the time they were putting the cake in the oven, the kitchen looked like the airport had after the confrontation between Iron Man and Captain America. A complete mess. Cake batter was slouched into Peter's shirt, flour covered the kitchen counter, and was sprinkled throughout Pepper's hair.

Pepper wiped her hands off on a cloth after she set the timer, and sighed. "Well that's it, that was the hard put, right?"

"Let's hope so," said Peter, with a laugh. He climbed up on one of the stools and started drawing with his finger in the spilled flour. "What made you decide to bake a cake, anyway?"

"Oh," said Pepper. "I don't know. I was thinking I could bake something next week for when your aunt comes over for dinner."

"I wouldn't worry about that. She probably won't be back."

"Why won't she?"

Peter shifted on the stool and lifted his finger from the flour drawing. Because he didn't want her too. Because last night he'd made that very clear by faking an illness. He didn't want to say any of that out loud, though, so instead he simply shrugged, and went back to work on his masterpiece.

"I think she'll be back," said Pepper. "Do you think she would've come to dinner after doing what she did, knowing Tony Stark would be there be glaring at her the whole time, if she wasn't serious?"

"It's not like she came back alone. She had _Greg_."

"That was… regrettable."

"You hate him," said Peter. He titled his head at her, trying to see if he could see the truth on her face, trying to determine if she would lie.

"It isn't that I _hate_ him," said Pepper. She was suddenly poised and using her press conference voice and was forgetting that she had flour in her hair and that Peter could hear through the walls. "I just find him a little odd, and he isn't the point."

"I just don't want her to come back," admitted Peter. "I don't want things to change. Everything was just starting to be good and feel… normal. Now everything's all messed up again."

"I know," said Pepper. She picked a piece of dried cake batter on the shoulder of Peter's shirt and let her hand rest there. Peter looked up at Pepper as she spoke. "I'm so sorry you're life keeps getting interrupted like this, but I think you'll regret it if you don't take this opportunity to reconnect with her. I know forgiveness is hard, but when it's for people you love, it's worth it."

Peter looked away, put his attention back in the flour, slide his thumb through it, crossing out all his hard work. "But what if she leaves again?"

"Then she'll be the one with regrets, and you'll always have me and Tony."

He bit the inside of his mouth, hoping Pepper wouldn't catch the tremble in his voice. "I just, I don't know how to forgive."

"You start with something simple," said Pepper. She lifted his chin up with hand and smiled at him. "Like being on time for dinner."

He gave her a small smile back. She made it seem so simple. That everything might fall into place as long he showed just a tiny bit of effort.

He helped her clean off the counters and wash the dishes. He was ringing a cloth of soapy, warm water when the oven timer dinged, and Pepper put on the oven mitts. She took out the cake, if it could be called a cake. It was a mess. Just like the kitchen had been, but they smiled in triumph anyway. It was their mess, and they didn't care what it looked like.

After it cooled, they applied the icing haphazardly and generously, and once they were done, they ate icing out of the container with spoons.

That was how Tony found them when he came back home from his meeting. He looked at the carpet as he walked, his jaw was set tight, until he looked up and saw him and Pepper. They sat next to their disaster cake, looking guilty, with spoons full of icing popped into their mouths.

His jaw went loose as his mouth split into a grin, and he undid his tie as he joined them in the kitchen. He pulled a spoon out from the drawer, stood behind them, and said, "This better be chocolate."

* * *

Peter was up on the ceiling, in Pepper's home office, his head hanging upside down and his eyes watching Tony. He was sat behind Pepper's desk, so focused on the screen in front of him and the papers that lay across the computer's keyboard, he didn't notice Peter clinging to the ceiling.

With a grin, Peter let go, fell through the air, and landed on his feet with a thump. Tony jumped in the desk chair, and it rolled backwards.

"Hey Tony," said Peter.

"Can't you enter the room like a normal person?" asked Tony, with a breath. He rolled the chair back up to the desk.

"I had to get you back for putting icing in my hair. It took forever to get out." Peter walked over to where Tony sat, and stood on his tippy toes, trying to see what he was working on. He grabbed the top paper from the pile in front of Tony.

"It did not," said Tony. He snatched the paper away from him, put it with the rest of them, and stuffed them into a drawer out of sight. "So, what do you want? You're wearing that 'I'm about to ask for something ridiculous face.'"

Peter frowned. "I don't have that face."

"Yes, you do, it's your natural expression. So, come on. Out with it."

"It's not ridiculous," said Peter, with a shrug. "I was just going to ask for permission to break our deal."

Tony gave him a dead look.

"But it's for something good!"

"I'm listening…"

"I was just gonna go swing over and see May real fast."

"Real fast?" Tony questioned. He leaned back in the chair and raised an eyebrow at him. "That doesn't make any sense. Last night you didn't want to see her at all."

"I'm going to invite her to dinner next weekend," said Peter. His statement didn't do anything to erase the confusion on Tony's face, so he elaborated further. "Pepper and I had a conversation."

"And now it makes sense." Tony looked at Peter for what felt like hours. HE could hear the clock ticking, time winding down, before Tony finally reached a decision. "Okay, yeah, let's go. I'll drive you."

Tony stood up from his chair and got half-way to the door before he realized Peter wasn't following him. His feet stayed planted on the carpet.

"I wanted to go by myself," said Peter. "As Spider-Man."

Tony looked at him, studied him. "I'm sure whatever conversation you had with Pepper, playing head games with your aunt wasn't part of it."

"I'm not playing games," said Peter, but maybe he was.

So maybe he needed to see what May's reaction to him as Spidey would be. He didn't see why that was a problem, why that was somehow unreasonable. He wasn't the one on trial. He wasn't the one who needed to be tested, and he wasn't the one who left his family behind.

She was.

"Okay," said Tony. It wasn't a strong okay. Definitely not certain the way Tony's words normally were. "Back in two hours, alright?"

"Yeah, of course," said Peter. He moved from his spot on the carpet but didn't make it past Tony. He stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Peter," he told him. "I love you. I know we don't really say that. I never heard it from my dad so it doesn't come natural, but the books have been saying that's it's really – "

"Tony," said Peter. He had to interrupt him, because he was rambling. Peter knew that as a sign of him feeling awkward. "I love you, too."

Tony nodded his head up and down a few times, then released his grip on his shoulder. "Be safe."

"Yeah."

Peter left Tony behind in Pepper's office with a smile. He hadn't heard those specific words in a long time and didn't know he needed them from Tony. He knew Tony loved him without him saying it. Tony worked a lot better with actions than he did with words, but still, there was something about hearing it.

He hustled into his room, threw on his spidey suit, and walked out on to his balcony. The city was alive under him, and as he stood up on that ledge, ready to shoot a web and head off, he took a deep breath to steady himself, to tell himself he was ready for this confrontation,

It was a lie. He wasn't anywhere near ready.

* * *

Peter stuck to the side of a small townhouse in Brooklyn and peered through the window.

His aunt May was busy in the kitchen, making tea and listening to the radio. Maybe it was an intrusion to her privacy to watch her like that, but all these months he'd been wondering about her life without him. Now that he saw it, he knew it was very mundane. Almost normal. Just making tea, on a Sunday afternoon, like she didn't have a dead family to grieve.

He supposed that wasn't fair. His life away from her hadn't always been stormy weather. He'd had his share of both fun and mundane, but still, he would have at least liked to catch her looking a bit sad.

It would've made forgiveness, or at least, the start of forgiveness, a lot easier for him.

Peter gently tapped on the window, and watched as May startled, not quite as badly as Tony had earlier, but it was enough for her to drop her cup of tea on floor. It shattered by her feet. She didn't care about that, though. She couldn't have. Her attention was completely focused on Peter.

"Peter," she said, after stepping over the broken china, and opening the window. Her heart was still beating fast, faster now, even. "What are you doing here?"

He stuck one leg through the window as May backed up, ducked his head through, and then eventually, his whole body. Peter landed on the floor, pulled his mask off, letting his brown hair fly out and stick up in wild directions.

"Aren't you happy to see me?"

"What?" asked May. There was a shake in her voice, like shocked offense, like the question was ridiculous. "I just wasn't expecting you to show up, like this."

"You mean you weren't expecting Spider-Man."

"I wasn't expecting a spider-boy crawling up through my window, no." She sounded annoyed. The same way she used to sound when Peter left his bookbag on the floor, or his shoes by the front door. It's how he knew there was no malice in it. It felt normal, but Peter knew that feeling was a lie too.

"Well I'm Spider-Man," said Peter. "To see me you have to see him."

"Okay," she said. She blinked at him a couple of times, and a few awkward seconds of staring followed before she shook out of her supposed trance. "We should talk. Let me clean this up, then I can make you some tea."

"I don't drink tea," said Peter. He watched she move across the kitchen floor and grab a broom and dust pan that had been standing against the fridge.

"Okay well, how about a soda?"

Peter nodded, and made himself at home at the kitchen table, while May swept up the broken tea cup. He looked around the kitchen. It was bigger than the one they had back at their Queens apartment, and they were photos of her Greg attached to the freezer-fridge combo unit. At the beach. At a monument in DC. In front of the Eiffel Tower.

He shook his head and watched her sweep instead. It reminded him of when he was younger. She cleaned up his messes all the time. He wondered when that became too much for her. He wondered if she knew her last time cleaning one of his messes was her last time.

May tossed the dust pan filled with broken china into the trach can and opened the fridge, pulling out two cans of Coke. The regular brand. They used to strictly by the off-brand. It had more favor, they used to say, because they couldn't really admit that every penny counted after Ben died.

She sat down across the table from him and pushed one of the cans toward.

"Thanks," he told her, popping it open, at the same time she opened hers.

They both took a drink. They both stared at each other, and Peter imagined they were both playing the same game, winding down the time until the other knew what to say.

"It's a nice house," offered Peter.

May gave a small, hallow laugh. It almost felt genuine. Almost. "Not as nice as what I'm sure you're used to now, but Greg has a nice job. Between the two of us, we can afford it."

She didn't mention it helped that she didn't have a mutant nephew to feed now, but that was the truth. Even if neither of them wanted to say it out loud.

"Are you feeling better?"

"What?"

"Last night you said you weren't feeling well," said May, tracing the rim of her soda can with her finger.

"Yeah, way better."

"Peter," she said, with a slight. "Why did you come here?"

"Are you back for good?" he blurted out the question. It was why he was there. To ask that question, because he needed to know if he was going to show up on time for dinner. He needed her word, even if it wasn't worth much anymore.

"We bought a house. We're not going anywhere."

We. Her and Greg, not May and Peter.

She reached across the table to take his hands, but he withdrew. He stood up from the table, and the legs of the chair he sat in scrapped against the floor.

"I just came over to invite you to dinner next weekend."

You. Singular. As in just her, not her and Greg, but Peter figured she wouldn't get it.

"I'll be on time, and I won't get sick."

"Okay," said May. Her voice was soft, understanding, and he couldn't tell if it was genuine. "We'll be there."

Peter nodded and walked back towards the open window. He put one leg up, on the window seal, and was about to lift his body up and out when May's voice stopped him.

"We're going to be a family again. I promise. I'm here for good."

He leapt out the window, and caught himself with a web, falling gracefully to the ground. His feet hit when he realized he probably should have said something to that, but he shrugged it off. He didn't have anything to say.

Peter made it back home before his two hours were up.

He changed back into his regular clothes, and found Tony and Pepper lounging on the couch, watching a movie with a bucket of popcorn between them. He swiped it and put it down on his lap as he collapsed on the spot between his parents.

"How did it go?" asked Tony. Some old movie was playing on the TV, one Peter actually hadn't seen before, and he was already sucked in. Tony threw a piece of popcorn at him, then once he gained his attention, repeated his question.

"It was fine," said Peter. "She's coming over for dinner next weekend."

Pepper gave his arm a squeeze and smiled at him. Tony ruffled his hair and stole the bucket of popcorn, and Peter realized what he should've told May. He didn't need another family. He had a pretty perfect one already.

* * *

A/N: I saw far from home last night and no spoilers, but I really liked it! hoped you enjoyed the chapter, and thanks so much for all you guys reading, commenting, and subbing, I see you!

and if you're in usa, have a good 4th, im posting a fireworks irondad story tomorrow! and also, another short story in my tumblr collection today, so you know, read that if you want


	18. brooklyn part 4

The next time May and Greg came over for dinner, Peter sat next to Tony, and focused on his food while he was forced to listen to Greg recite the story about how him and May met for the first time. The story was being repeated for Peter's benefit, since he'd been pretending to be sick in his bedroom the first time, but it was still Peter's second time hearing it.

He picked at his food with his fork. He supposed it was good Greg didn't know he could hear through walls.

The story was just as gross as the first time, and made Peter think maybe he really was getting sick, for real that time.

Greg had been the leader of some support group for grieving spouses. May had been assigned to his group, and the rest was tragedy. And more than just a little messed up. Maybe that's what Pepper had decided she didn't like about him. That he used his position as a group leader to get dates.

That was only Greg's volunteer work, though. He made that point perfectly clear. His real job was more important than helping people process their grief. He spent the nearly the entire dinner telling them about it, and by the time the evening was over, and Tony was pushing both him and May into the elevator, Peter had barely spoken a word to his aunt.

Fine with him. It'd been her choice to bring him along.

"I'm taking it back," said Pepper, as she slammed dishes into the dishwasher. "I do hate him."

At least Pepper's comment had been enough to put a small smile on Peter's face when his head hit the pillow that night.

Next time May and Greg came around, Pepper was armed with a plan, one that was obvious to Peter and Tony and probably even May, but not so much to Greg. They sped through dinner, and when they were finished, Pepper threw Tony under the bus.

"Tony," she said, "you should take Greg down and show him around the workshop, I'll sure he'd love to see it."

"I would rather- "Tony stopped dead after catching Pepper's look. He changed his tone. "I mean, I would rather show him around the bigger one at the compound, but this one will have to do."

Tony directed Greg to the elevator, but the way he walked made it seem sort of like he was being sent to his own execution. They both stepped into the elevator, both looking a bit awkward, and when the doors slid shut, Pepper turned her attention to Peter and May. She smiled at them, and Peter knew what was coming next.

"Peter," said Pepper. "Has May seen your room yet?"

"No…"

"Why don't you go show her, while I clean up and get the dessert ready?"

Dessert wasn't a cake. Pepper had brought a carton of ice cream from some gourmet place down the street, because they'd been given up on baking. They were disasters in the kitchen. Somethings just couldn't be helped.

"Okay," said Peter, and him and May headed down the hall. Just like Tony, Peter didn't see the point in arguing or complaining about it, even though he rather stay and help Pepper with dessert than give May a tour of the penthouse. Pepper's word was law.

"Wow," said May, as they stepped into his bedroom, and she looked around. There was something sad on her face. Peter wasn't sure what that meant, but then suddenly she blinked, and it was gone, and it didn't matter anymore.

"Yeah," said Peter, sheepishly. "Uh, Tony overdoes everything."

He'd never really paid attention to his room before then, until his aunt was hovering around, and he got to see it through her eyes.

It'd always been big, and pretty spectacular, with high ceilings and Star Wars posters covering the walls. It had its own mini living area in front of a Stark television and a mini office off in a corner, which was his favorite place to study. He had his own bathroom, a balcony, a king-sized bed.

It never mattered before. When he first moved in, he was too preoccupied with abandoned to be impressed with a big space with a lot of fancy objects in it, and now, it was just normal.

His normal, but it still felt awkward showing it off, especially to May, who always worked so hard just to provide a fraction of what was in front of them.

"I really did miss you, Peter," said May. "I hope that's enough."

"Enough?" asked Peter. "Enough for what?"

She didn't answer, and instead, picked up one of the framed pictures Peter had sitting on his desk. He knew it by the dark blue frame. It was the only picture of May he kept out in the open, and it was only because Ben was featured, too. They were together, at an ice cream shop in Queens, wearing spoons on their noses.

"Do you remember this?"

Peter shrugged. "How could I forget?"

Peter had come home from school sad, so Ben and May took him out for ice cream, and Ben taught him how to hang spoons from their noses. When Ben died, Peter was too old to be impressed with spoons on noses, but May was sad every day. Peter would stop at their favorite ice cream parlor on the way home from school, spend his lunch money on their favorite flavor, and make May smile.

Soft, sad, but it was still a smile.

That was before she knew about Spider-Man. That brief period between Ben's death, and her figuring out the truth, where they were actually close.

Looking at her now, Peter knew this was a different May. Definitely not the same one he used to sit on the couch with, eating ice cream after midnight, and watching trash reality TV.

"It was a good day," said May. She carefully put the picture back down on the desk, and her eyes trailed over the other objects scattered around. Ribbons from decathlon meets, homework, tests that had been handed back with circled A's written on the top.

It felt like an intrusion. He didn't like her snooping.

"Yeah," said Peter. "But it was a long time ago." He hitched his thumb back at the door. "We should probably get back out to the dining room, they're probably already waiting for us."

He didn't wait for her response. He brushed past her and didn't look back.

Tony and Greg were back in the dining room when Peter and May appeared from out of the darkened hallway, and all four of them sat down for ice cream. Peter swirled his around in the bowl with his spoon. Once again, he was ignoring Greg while he went on and on about that time he did volunteer work for people who lost their homes in the last hurricane.

He bit back his smile at Tony's annoyed face, at his fist twitching. Watching Tony grip his spoon, Peter thought he might snap it in half.

* * *

Flashes from the TV lit up Peter's face as he sat on the couch, in the living room, with a carton of ice cream sitting on his legs. There wasn't a need for a bowl. It was just him on the couch, and everyone else was asleep. Even May and Greg were probably sleeping, just across town in Brooklyn, in the home they made with each other.

His eyes were sucked into the TV. Something stupid was on. Something that numbed his mind the same way the ice cream numbed his mouth as it went down his throat, cool and soothing.

He was so numb, so focused on the show, he hadn't heard Tony walked down the hallway and into the living room. Didn't know he was even awake until he jumped over the back of the couch and startled him so bad, he jumped up and sent the ice cream carton spiraling facedown into the carpet.

Peter looked up at Tony, glaring and frowning.

"That's what you get for dropping down from the ceiling all the time," said Tony, as he bent over and picked the ice cream up off the floor. He swiped the spoon from Peter's idle hand, disinfected it by wiping it on his shirt, dipped it in the ice cream, and took a bite.

"That was mine."

"Not anymore," said Tony. He looked at the TV. "What is this garbage you're watching?"

"The Bachelor," said Peter, and didn't elaborate.

"What –" started Tony, then stopped. He sighed. "You know what I'm not even going to ask, but it sounds like trash."

"It is."

Tony nodded, and continued eating the ice cream that he stole while he settled into the couch. It was silent for several minutes, just the sounds from the TV, which was set on low, filled the space.

"May and I used to do this," said Peter. He pulled the thought from thin air. His feet hadn't realized they were reliving old memories when he'd gotten out from his bed and wandered into the kitchen, but sitting there, with Tony next to him, it became clear.

Tony stuck the spoon in the ice cream and ordered Friday to pause the TV.

"We had this whole ritual, after Ben died, before she – before things changed," said Peter. It was paused, but he continued to stare at the TV.

"We'd just stay up late eating ice cream and watching trash like this, and just talking."

He missed that. He missed his aunt, and it was too bad she wasn't around anymore. The person who came back for him, who kept promising him they were going to be a family, wasn't May. Not anymore.

Peter looked down at his lap and twisted his hands together. It didn't seem fair for this May imposter to come back and walk around and unravel all these old memories he'd worked so hard to keep tied down.

Tony pressed the ice cream into Peter's stomach, like some sort of peace offering.

"Listen," said Tony. "I called the attorney and had him get our court date pushed back."

"For the adoption?" asked Peter. He turned, and faced Tony, no longer interested in pretending to be interested in a paused TV show. He shoved the ice cream down on the coffee table. "Why?"

"Because you're confused."

"No, no, I'm not."

"Yes, you are," said Tony. "Look, Peter, there isn't anything that would make me happier than legally making you part of my family, but it needs to be right, for you. I don't want you walking into this for the wrong reasons, and right now you're walking around like a robot- "

"-No I'm not," repeated Peter.

"-and refusing to deal with any of this," said Tony. "You're ignoring it still or trying to." Tony leaned back against the couch, and sighed. "This is just all really bad timing, me and Pep… we just want what's best for you, and that's not piling more stress on you."

"I'm not confused," said Peter. He leaned back against the couch, to match Tony, and looked him in the eye when he spoke, trying as best as he could to feign honesty. "And I _have_ thought about. I want us to be a real family."

"We're already a real family, Pete. Going to court doesn't change anything, this will just give you more time to think."

"I don't want more time to think."

"Yeah, I know," said Tony. He ruffled Peter's hair and started to rise up from the couch. "It'll be okay. We'll figure it out, and everything will turn out the way it's supposed to."

That sort of sounded like a fairy tale. Nothing ever seemed to work out the way Peter wanted it to work out, but maybe that was the problem. Maybe the way Peter wanted things to be, and the way they were supposed to be, were at odds.

"Don't stay up too late, alright?"

Peter nodded, and Tony went back to his bedroom.

He blinked at the TV. It was still paused, and the people were frozen in place. That wasn't entirely unfamiliar for him. He didn't know how many more times his life was going to get put on hold, didn't know how much longer he'd be made to stay frozen in place, but he hoped it'd end soon.

* * *

Peter slammed his locker shut, and immediately regretted it. The screeching of metal hitting metal, of even the lock mechanism clicking into place, was too loud. He glared at it, thinking he might burn holes through it with his eyes, when a hand waved in front of his face.

"Earth to Peter," said Ned. "Weren't you listening?"

"Huh?"

Ned rolled his eyes. "Do have your notes for Ms. Beckham's class? I was hoping to get some last-minute studying in before the quiz."

Out of all his friends, Peter was the best notetaker, and he suffered for it. They all knew memorizing his notes was almost the same as memorizing a cheat sheet. They came for him and his notes on quiz days, but on that particular quiz day, Peter was empty handed. He didn't have any notes. He didn't have a clue what this quiz was supposed to be about.

"Let's do something better," said Peter. Ned frowned. "Let's ditch today."

"You want to skip school?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Because that's really weird," said Ned. "You love school."

He shrugged and looked around. They were running out of time to make a clean break. The crowds in the hall were thinning.

"So? Everyone needs a break sometimes, and we can go to that new arcade."

Peter had him at the word arcade. They snuck through one of the back doors, and spent the entire day putting tokens into arcade games, blowing up spaceships, shooting at screens with plastic guns. It wasn't fun, exactly, but it was distracting. It was better than guessing answers on a quiz, or sitting at desks, trying to keep his thoughts straight.

When he got home, he went straight to his bedroom, laid face down on his bed and slipped his headphones on his ears, only for them to be yanked after just two songs later. Peter flipped on his back and looked up at Tony.

"Why weren't you at school today?"

"I, uh," started Peter. He sat up, and tried to think of a good lie, but that was pointless. The credit card statement would tell the truth. "I went to the arcade with Ned."

Tony frowned at him, and his whole face was scrunched. "Is this going to become a habit?"

There was only one answer, at least just one that would get Tony to leave his room. "No."

"Good," he said. "No spidey tonight."

"But- "

"No school, no spidey."

Tony zipped out of his room before Peter had a chance to yell anymore protests at him. He collapsed back down on his bed and slid his headphones back over his ears. It was probably for the best. Peter never liked arguing with Tony, and he could use the break from Spider-Man to catch up on studying, but that isn't what he did.

He walked into school the next morning the same as he did the morning before, wanting to leave and nowhere near ready for Ms. Beckham's quiz. He guessed at the answers. He wrote down nonsense, and he didn't really care as long as it got the piece of paper out of his face and onto Ms. Beckham's desk.

Peter spent the rest of his school week that way. He sat at a desk, doodled in his notebook, and couldn't be bothered with focusing on anything that wasn't the lines his pencils made.

That Saturday when May and Greg came over for dinner, she carried in with them a copy of Monopoly. She set it down on the dining room table, and turned towards Peter while Tony used every ounce of restraint he possessed to not break Greg's hand while they greeted each other with a handshake.

"I figured we could play after dinner," she told him. "You know, like we – "

"Yeah, I know," said Peter. "I remember."

But it was a little shocking that she did, too. That she had all these memories, and they were the same as Peter's. He didn't like how uncertain that felt, how now he was left in standing in the middle of the dining room wondering if his old family was really as dead as he thought it was, and hoping, despite being scared of hope, that maybe May was still aunt May, even if it was just a fraction of her that was left.

Tony clapped a hand on his shoulder, grounding him, bringing him back to reality. "As long as I get to be the racecar."

Peter forced a smile and a laugh and sat down at the table. Tony sat across from him, and Peter's elbow bumped against May's arm as they ate.

* * *

a/n: things are gonna start picking up a bunch after this chapter, so I hope you're ready because I'm not, it might be slower getting the next one out cause my next irondad bingo is on the longer side, it's about a carnival and a creepy motel and it's a little odd but please read it anyway

thanks for reading!


	19. brooklyn part 5

They never played monopoly again, not after that first night.

It turned out Pepper and Tony were too competitive. The game turned them against each other, and at several points, they both tried coaxing Peter into alliances. He wasn't game for it though, he took a passive approach to the game, along with May. Neither tried to win. Both enjoyed watching Pepper and Tony destroy each other too much to apply any real effort or get too upset when they had a bad roll.

Greg, on the other hand, was a different story.

Peter thought he might go into a rage, or burst into tears, by the end of the game, when he landed on one of Pepper's three monopolies and had to pay up.

She spent the rest of the week bragging about it, and lording it over Tony, who technically won, but it didn't matter. Bankrupting Greg was the real goal.

The next time May came over they played cards on the floor in Peter's bedroom. Just the two of them, while Tony got stuck distracting Greg with some sports game either of them cared about very much.

They played old games, games they used to play when Peter was a kid, and they talked, about school, and her new job, and although they smiled, and they laughed, it was different. There was something sad about her smile. It wasn't the same. Not like he remembered, anyway.

At the end of the night, when it was time for her to go, they hugged, and she disappeared into the elevator with Greg. Peter wondered if she would ever really smile a real smile again and if that would be his fault.

School between weekly dinner was a daze. Peter got by, just couldn't tell anyone exactly how he was getting by. He handed in work, and he didn't really care when it was handed back to him with red Xs all over it. He did okay on quizzes, even if he stopped taking notes and participating in class.

Peter got his wakeup call on a Wednesday afternoon. When he got home from school, he got a snack from the kitchen and walked into his bedroom with half a granola bar in his mouth. Tony sat leaned back in in his desk chair, waiting for him. That couldn't mean any thing good.

He dropped his bookbag at his feet.

"H-hey Tony," said Peter. "What are you doing… uh, in here?"

Tony stared at him, then beckoned for him to come closer. Hesitantly, dragging his feet the whole way, Peter obeyed.

"I got online and checked your grades today," said Tony. "They looked a little… off, so I emailed with your teachers, and they're all saying the same thing, that you're a little off, that you're slipping, and distracted."

Peter shifted on his feet and shoved the rest of his granola bar into his mouth, to buy himself some time. He didn't know what to say to Tony, what kind of excuse to pull, or how to distract himself, and Tony, away from the truth.

"Can we talk about it?" Tony pressed. "Maybe I can help."

Peter chewed and swallowed. Just the empty wrapper was left in his hands, he twirled it between his fingers. "You can't, uh, I mean, it's not a big deal."

Tony didn't believe him. Peter could tell. It was written in his eyes, and in the way his face folded. He stood from the desk chair, then motioned for Peter to take his place, but he didn't move. Just watched as Tony went and retrieved his bookbag off the floor near his door, handed it back to him, and gently nudged him until he finally sat down.

"Okay, if it's no big deal. Do your homework."

"Sure," said Peter. He unzipped his bag, piled his desk with notebooks and textbooks, flipping one open, then looking back up at Tony. "You're just going to stand there and watch me?"

"Yup, I'm here to help," said Tony. "Gotta make sure everything is up to your usual standards, unless there's something you want to talk about."

Peter glared, so Tony knew this intrusion was both annoying and unnecessary, but ultimately kept his mouth shut and started his homework. Tony hadn't been lying. He was there to help, or at least his version of it, which was checking over everything, and telling him which ones he got wrong, and ordering him to fix it.

When it was handed back to him the next day, it didn't have any red Xs on it, but Peter waded it up and threw it in the trash, anyway.

He liked his grade. He didn't like how it came to be.

He went outside and sat on a bench in front of the school, waiting and watching for Happy to pull the car and take him home. It was starting to get cold outside, so Peter shoved his bookbag down at his feet, unzipped it, and took out his jacket. As he put it on, his phone started ringing.

May's picture lit up the screen. It was one from before, one that Tony had saved from his old phone, after it was broken, one where her smile was normal.

"Hey May."

"Peter, hey," she said. "So, I was thinking, we could try something different this week for dinner."

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking you could come over here for dinner, instead of us coming to you."

"Okay, yeah," said Peter. He looked up, down the street, trying to spot Happy's car, but it was still nowhere in sight. "Tony and Pepper would probably love to see your new place."

"Well, that's the thing, Peter," said May. "I was hoping it'd just be you."

"Oh."

A few others were in the schoolyard, waiting around for rides, or just hanging out with friends. He wondered if any of his classmates' lives were as complicated as his, if any of them had these swift pangs of panic where they tried desperately to know that right thing to say.

Peter knew what he _wanted_ to say, but also, he knew it wasn't the _right_ thing to say.

"It's just with Tony and Pepper, it feels like supervised visitation."

Maybe that's what was wrong. Why when they spent time together on the weekends her smile was never quite right.

"Uh, maybe, I'll have to ask." A horn honked, and Peter jerked his head to the side. Happy and the car had arrived. "I gotta go."

He hung up, without saying goodbye and without waiting for her to say it, then climbed into the backseat of Happy's car.

"Good day?"

Peter's eyes met Happy's in the rearview mirror. "Yeah, it was fine."

Happy didn't believe him, either.

* * *

Peter stood out on the porch in front of May and Greg's house, staring at the front door, trying to figure how he got there. Pepper and Tony didn't seem completely comfortable with the idea of his going over there when he asked, but they hadn't said no either, hadn't stopped him.

He wished they would have. He had hoped maybe Tony would flex his authority as the custodial parent and stop this evening from happening, and yeah, technically Peter could've decided not to come on his own, but with the decision came the guilt.

It shouldn't be so hard, spending time with May, and also, it shouldn't be so hard trying to decide what to do now he was at the door.

Maybe he should knock, or ring the doorbell, but then maybe that would upset May, highlighting that they were practically strangers. Just opening the door and walking in didn't seem right, either. That felt wrong, and awkward, and like an intrusion. He didn't live there.

It wasn't his home.

His inward debated continued. It circled round and round until the door came open on its own, or rather, Greg opened it from the other side. Peter flinched, jumped back, but Greg didn't seem to notice. He gave him a toothy smile that didn't reach his eyes, that seemed forced.

"Peter," he greeted. "You're just in time. Come on."

He followed Greg through the foyer and into their dining room, where May was taking out containers of Thai, from their old favorite place, out of a plastic bag and onto the table.

"Look who I found creeping around outside," said Greg, walking off to the connected kitchen.

"I wasn't creeping," said Peter, hotly. May looked up from what she was doing, and smiled at him, as way of saying hello.

"Oh I know," said Greg, from in front of the fridge. He grabbed a couple of cokes, and when he came back to the dining room table, handed one to Peter. "I'm just joking with you, Peter."

The thing was, Peter didn't find Greg funny, and he didn't want to be joked around with, not by him.

He took his coke with a thanks, and they all sat down at the table. He tried to keep himself grounded by focusing on Greg's newest sweater vest, or rather, how fun it would be later to catch Tony up with the newest sweater vest. They were both convinced. The man didn't own any other type of clothing.

But to his complete shock, dinner turned out to be pleasant. They talked about school, and decathlon, and May's new job. It was light, easy conversation, and was a nice change of pace from all the other dinners, when the conversation was monopolized by Greg. By dessert, Peter was comfortable, full, and actually enjoying himself.

But Parkers couldn't have nice things, or nice moments, and that should've been his first clue the evening was about to take a turn.

Greg stood up, the back legs of the chairs screech against the floor, and announced he had some work to do in his office, and once he was gone, May reached across the table and put her hands on Peter's.

"I'm so glad you came over tonight, this has been fun, right?"

"Yeah," said Peter. He didn't know how to do anything other than agree, though he felt the fun was about to unravel. "It's been great."

He leaned back in his chair, distance to brace himself for whatever was coming. For her to tell him she was leaving again, packing up and moving house to somewhere across the country, or maybe, to a completely different country. Maybe her and Greg enjoyed Paris so much they decided to live there.

"So listen," she said. "There's something we need to talk about."

"Okay, what?"

May took a breath, and almost started her goodbye speech. It was strange. Peter almost felt relieved. His life would go back to normal. No more dinners, no more emotional numbness. He could catch up in school. He could enjoy being Spider-Man again. He could hang out with Ned, without being a complete downer.

She let go of his hands, sudden, then stood up from the table. "Just, come on, I have something to show you."

He followed her upstairs, and through a hallway, then finally, into a door, into a bedroom with a made, queen-sized bed, with blue walls covered in Star Wars posters.

"Do you like it?" asked May. "It's smaller than the room at Tony's, but it's homier, right? Don't you think?"

"Oh yeah… it's, um, it's great."

"This is what I wanted to talk to you about. I think it's time we start discussing when you're going to come back home."

"Back home?"

"Well I know this isn't Queens. But we're family, and family belongs together."

"That's not what you thought when you left."

The words were cruel, and wrong. They were those things, but also, they were the truth, and they slipped out before Peter could stop them. May retreated, almost like he'd slapped with something more than just words, and when her cellphone started to ring, she wore that shocked, hurt expression as she read the caller ID, told him she'd be back, and left Peter alone in the room.

He looked around.

It was empty. It was a bed that had never been slept in, furniture without any clutter loaded onto it, no pictures sitting around on desks, or hanging up on the walls. He walked into it further and stuck his head inside the closet. It reminded him of the closet he had at the Queens apartment. Neither were big enough to fit a human, but that didn't stop Peter from hiding there as a child, and even later, as he got older, when he just needed to block out the noise of the world after Ben died.

"It's pretty small, huh?"

Peter backed up, and took his head out of the closet, to see Greg. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His sweater vest was untucked, and his hair hung in his face. Sloppy, like Peter had never seen him before.

"No, it's sized… perfectly."

"Can we chat? Man to man?"

He wanted to say no, definitely not, but he figured the talk was coming whether he wanted it or not, so he nodded.

"It's not really fair to make May compete with the Starks," said Greg. He stood up straight, walking away from the door frame, and closer to Peter.

"What? I'm not doing – "

"-Look, I get it. You have it made, living with billionaires, having servants, getting the celebrity treatment," said Greg. He ignored Peter, ignored that he was shaking his head. "But those people aren't your family, and that's what should matter most."

It was an insult, and offensive, and the only way Peter knew to cope what with Greg was implying, without losing his temper and shouting at him, was to imagine what Tony would say, if he heard it. He'd laugh, maybe. Tony knew from experience Peter wasn't impressed by fancy toys or clothes and spent the first couple of weeks under Tony's care mortified a stranger was doing his laundry.

But then, maybe that didn't matter. If that's what May thought about him, that he loved the Starks for their money, than it was true to her, even if it was so, so wrong.

"Sometimes I really worry about May," said Greg. "She's come so far in her recovery from depression, but her happiness… it's still so fragile. It helps when you're around. You bring out her brightest smiles."

He stopped talking, as if he expected Peter to say something, but he didn't have anything to say. He didn't want May to be depressed. Sometimes, he was still angry with her, but it didn't mean he wanted her to suffer. Nobody deserved depression.

"I guess it's just something to think about," said Greg. Realizing he wasn't going to get a response from Peter, he left the room, passing by May on her way in.

"What were you two talking about?"

"Oh, I was just telling him how much I like my room," said Peter. May's face lit up, and for a few seconds, she looked like the May from before.

* * *

That night, Peter saw Ben, but he wasn't the way he remembered him.

He wasn't smiling or warm. He wasn't kind. His stare was blank, and while his eyes were empty, they were still loaded with accusations, and with blame. He didn't speak. He didn't need words to convey the message. Just his presence, his sad, worn face, was enough for Peter to realize how disappointed his uncle would be if he were alive to witness the way things were between him and May.

Peter didn't wake with a scream, but rather, his face was wet from tears. He laid faceup on his bed, stared at the ceiling, crying silent tears that could only ever be witnessed by the walls in his room. And FRIDAY, if she was spying on him. Peter hoped not. He wasn't in the mood to explain to Tony that it was his fault that Ben was dead and May was depressed.

So, to better hide his guilt, he spent Sunday in his room, specifically in his bed, watching shows he'd seen a million times before on his laptop, while his thoughts swirled round and round. At some point, Pepper had stuck her head in his room and invited him to watch a movie with her and Tony, but he politely declined.

On the way back from the bathroom, he swiped the family photo of him, May and Ben off his desk and brought it back to bed with him. The people in the photo were smiling wide, with no clue they were about to be ripped apart.

Maybe that family could exist, again, though. Ben was dead, but when May and Peter were together, his memory was more complete. Maybe it wasn't worth it, wasn't worth losing his new family.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. He shouldn't be so selfish when May's husband was dead, and all she wanted was her family back.

It was late into the evening when Peter finally swung his legs off the bed and wandered down to the workshop to find Tony. He was there, just like he always was. Peter could always count on Tony to be there.

"Oh hey, Peter," he said. He slid his work goggles up to rest on his head, and he frowned when he looked at Peter. "What's wrong?"

"I just," said Peter. His voice was quiet, and a bit broken. "I just need to talk to you about something."

"Okay, anything," said Tony, taking the goggles all the way off his head, and tossing them onto the worktable. Peter watched them fell, then looked back up at Tony.

"May asked me to move in with her and Greg."

"…she did?" If he was angry, it wasn't apparent in his tone or in his face. He was a lot better at hiding his emotions than Peter. "How do you feel about that?"

Bad. He felt bad about it. He didn't want to leave, or even have this conversation with Tony, but it didn't matter how he felt. He had to put his feelings aside. For May, and for Ben, and for the chance they could be a family again.

"Sort of like, I don't know," said Peter, looking down. "Like I want to give it a chance."

"Wow," said Tony. "That's… you're sure?"

"Yeah, I've given it some thought," said Peter. He hoped Tony wouldn't call him out on the fact the most thought he could've given it was a half day.

Tony reached out, put a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed. "If that's what you want, we'll make it happen."

Peter felt something cold spreading through his belly. He never imagined the conversation to go this way. He thought maybe Tony wouldn't let go him, that he would say of course not, that Peter belonged there at the penthouse, in the workshop, specifically. But he didn't.

"Don't look so surprised," said Tony. "I told you, you're old enough to decide who you live with, and you make good decisions. I know you'll do the right thing. I trust you."

The words made him soar but ate him up. He wished he was hearing them under different circumstances. He wished he could stay.

"I'm gonna miss you, kid." Tony pulled him into a hug, one that Peter wanted to last forever, but of course, couldn't.

It ended quickly, just like the short period between deciding to move, telling May about his decision, and having to the pack his bags.

There were a few special things he made sure got put into his suitcase. The watch Tony let him borrow, that was technically still his, the Iron Man plush Tony had gotten for him while he waited for him to get out of surgery, and an airbrush t-shirt Pepper bought for him the day he was miserable shopping in LA.

His goodbye with her was a hug and a kiss on the forehead, and a see-you-soon. Peter had promised both of them he'd come around for dinner something, but the way she said it made Peter think her see-you-soon meant something different entirely.

Peter didn't say goodbye to Tony until they both stood on the porch of the Brooklyn house, holding bags, that were dropped on the concrete so they could share one last hug.

"Don't be a stranger, okay," said Tony, when they broke away. "I can always use an extra set of hands in the lab."

Peter nodded. "Okay, yeah, yeah I'll be by."

"And please do your homework," continued Tony, his voice speeding up. "And go to school. You're going through a hard time, but you'll regret it later if you get behind. I know you. You care about your grades, don't lose that."

"I won't. I promise."

"Good," said Tony, starting to back away, starting to walk off that porch and back to his car. "See you around, kid."

"See ya," said Peter. He stayed out on the porch under the flickering lights, with his bags on the concrete, and watched as Tony got in the car, sped off, leaving him at this house in Brooklyn that wasn't his home.

* * *

A/N:greg is a loser and must be stopped, and also, next chapter! is going to be some Tony pov, because I feel like his perspective on all of this is needed, next chapter will hopefully be posted sooner than this one was, thanks for reading!


	20. brooklyn part 6

Tony flicked the propeller on the tiny, plastic helicopter, before setting it back down on his workstation and watching it spin round and round. The workshop was quiet without Peter and his rambling, without his questions. The entire penthouse was quiet and lonely without his energy.

Home was empty, and the emptiness mocked him.

The propellers slowed and came to a stop. That helicopter mocked him, too. It was a lie. Tony wasn't a helicopter, not anymore, at least. A helicopter parent wouldn't have allowed their child to move in with a practical stranger, and a literal one.

It wasn't supposed to be permanent. Both him and Pepper suspected it wouldn't be, that Peter wouldn't last long over there, and for one reason or another, he would come back home. May wasn't ready to be a parent again. Greg wasn't fit to take care of a goldfish, and Peter, he was still just lost and confused, reaching for something that didn't exist anymore.

Tony worried about the moment Peter truly realized it was gone. He worried most that he wouldn't be there to pick up the pieces once he did.

It'd been a week since Tony drove Peter to Brooklyn and left him behind on a porch. There'd been no phone calls, no texts, no dropping by to help him in the workshop. No anything. It felt like avoidance. It felt like his kid was avoiding him.

Tony paused, listened to the footsteps creep into his workshop. They were light, and careful, but not light or careful enough. He didn't have to turn and look to know they didn't belong to Pepper, or to Peter, who he most wanted to see. It was the opposite, actually. It was someone he didn't really care to see at all.

"You shouldn't be here," said Tony. "You haven't been cleared officially. You can still be arrested."

He turned and was unsurprised to find a rogue Avenger sneaking into his penthouse. Tony locked eyes with Nat, who was there, in his workshop, where she shouldn't be. She crept closer, despite Tony's eyes telling her to leave, and when she arrived at the workstation, she eyed the plastic helicopter and picked it up.

"Nice toy," she said. "Where'd you get it?"

"It was a gift," answered Tony.

"From the kid?" she asked, and at Tony's raised eyebrow, continued, "we were on the run, but we still had the news. Tony Stark can't move to adopt a child without the whole world talking about it. Spider-Man, right? That boy you're adopting?"

Tony just stared. He refused to confirm or deny, although he knew both options were useless. If Nat knew, then she knew. If the rest of the Avengers knew, they knew, and nothing would change it.

"It's so obvious."

"He thinks he's clever," said Tony, opting to steer the conversation away from Spider-Man. Avoiding was second choice to denying, but it still worked. "He was trying to make a point."

Nat smiled. "Smart boy."

"Yeah, he is," said Tony. "What are you doing here, exactly? Besides harassing me about my kid?"

"Cap says you didn't show at the last hearing," said Nat. "I'm just here to check if you're getting cold feet, changing your mind, that sort of thing." She put the helicopter back down on the workstation. Tony unclenched his fist. It was safe. "You know, I liked having a home, it'd be nice to get back to it."

It'd be a waste of his breath for him to explain to her that she wouldn't have had to leave her home in the first place if she hadn't traded sides for the wrong one. That fight was so long ago, though, or at least, it felt that way. He supposed Peter had been there to take his mind from it. Helping him heal had helped Tony heal, too, but now Peter was gone, and it was only fitting his previous demons returned in his place.

"No," said Tony. "To answer your question, I've just had a few things on my mind."

"The kid, again?"

"I'm still working to get you guys back, so you got your answer, now isn't time you left?" He motioned at the door. He wasn't in the mood to deal with this, with all the feelings Nat and the other Avengers were tied up in. "The door is right there. You can leave the same way you came in."

Nat's expression remained as blank as ever. At least that hadn't changed. She turned, and walked back towards the door, paused. "It was good to see you again, Tony."

And then she was gone, too.

Tony wished he could say the same. Maybe someday, when he had his family back with him, whole and complete, he would consider being on friendly terms with his ex-team members. Until then, he only had room in his life for one heartbreak, he couldn't roll the dice on another.

He took the helicopter off the workstation and slid it into his pocket, before leaving the workshop in search of Pepper. His sanctuary just wasn't the same with Peter, and needed to leave, or the silence might swallow him.

* * *

Peter was little.

He was so little, he had to stand on his tippy toes to reach his cup on the dining room table, and even still, he could barely graze the plastic with his fingertips, but then, as if by magic, his drink scooted across the table and into his grasp.

He looked up. Ben was there, hovering above him and the table, with his face shrouded in sunlight that streamed in through the window.

"Thanks," said Peter. His voice was small, too. Small, and sad. He missed his mom and dad. He missed his parents, who left him with his aunt and uncle, then never came back.

Often, the wondered when Ben and May would take him somewhere and leave him there. Then he'd be completely alone. Then he'd have no one, at all.

"Never," said Ben. "I could never give you away. You're my sun. My whole world revolves around you, it would collapse without you."

Ben broke up and faded out when Peter's alarm from his phone ripped him from his dreams. He wiped a few tears from his eyes and swung his feet over his bed.

He didn't want to get up. He didn't want to go to school. May and Greg wouldn't notice if he stayed under the covers and went back to his dreams. They didn't wake up until later on, and probably wouldn't check his room to see if he'd made it out of bed. But still, Peter couldn't do it. He wouldn't sleep the day away.

He'd made a promise to Tony, and he intended to keep it.

As he forced himself to walk across the hall to the bathroom, his thoughts were still on his dream, if they were really dreams, or some memory too old to remember. It was always the same. Only Ben's words changed.

Once he told Peter when he went away he'd make sure there was someone else there to take care of him, that even if he left and went to heaven, he would never truly be alone. Must've just been a dream, based on wishful thinking. He lived in a house with two other people, same as the penthouse, and never felt more alone.

He showered, got dressed, packed his bookbag and threw it on his back, before carefully, quietly going downstairs. He made his steps as light as he could. He cringed when the last stair creaked, paused, and strained his ears for movement. Nothing. He let out a breath.

Peter didn't need from any more complaints from Greg about his being too loud in the mornings. Waking him up once was enough. He preferred not seeing him that early, anyway. Actually, Peter preferred not seeing him at all.

He snagged a banana from the kitchen counter, and when his stomach growled, he considered grabbing another, then noticed there was only a couple left. With a sigh no one would hear, he left the house with the single banana and hoped it'd be enough to keep his stomach quiet until lunch.

It didn't. Not really.

He suffered through four classes, and by the time lunch rolled around, he was just seconds away from starving to death. He bounced back and forth on his feet while he waited in line for his food, half listening to Ned as he talked about some TV show. Peter swiped four cheeseburgers, three orders of french fries, and because he could practically hear Pepper reprimanding him about bad food choices, he topped it off with a side salad.

Peter paid with his lunch account number. Tony and Pepper filled it with more money than he ever thought he'd use at the beginning of the year, but now, he worried it might run out. Lunch was the only meal he could eat as much as his metabolism demanded.

"Dude," said Ned, starting at Peter's packed lunch tray, and watching as he inhaled his first cheeseburger in just a couple bites. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," said Peter, as MJ sat down across from them, and gave a disgusted look at him. Peter was so hungry to stop eating, even when he was talking. "Just really hungry."

"More like ravenous," said MJ. "When was the last time you ate? Last year?"

Peter just shrugged and continued eating. He ate plenty, at school and sometimes on patrol, when he used the credit card Tony had given him at Delmar's, but at home, he saw the looks Greg gave him when ate two sandwiches instead of one.

May and Greg argued at night, about money, so Peter did what he could not to be a financial burden. That meant starving at lunch, and it meant using Tony's credit card and hoping the totals were so small he wouldn't even notice.

It was still strange, though. The arguments. May and Greg as a couple had more money than May and Ben ever did, and they had never argued about money.

"Are you sure everything's alright at May's?" asked Ned.

He'd made his opinions on Peter's move very clear. Ned was confused. He didn't like, and he'd been shocked, but most of the time, he kept it to himself. When MJ had found out, she just stared at him, like he was stupid.

"Yeah, everything's great," said Peter. His mouth was still full, and MJ was still looking at him like he was stupid.

* * *

After school Peter came home to an empty house. That was typical. He was used to it. Both May and Greg worked late, so usually he was on his own until dinner or sometimes even after. He didn't mind it, at least that was what he told himself. It was nice to have the house to himself, it was nice to exist in the living room without Greg glaring at him and making him feel like he shouldn't be there.

In their absence, every afternoon he turned the living room into his office. He plopped down on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, switched on the TV for background noise, and took his textbooks and notebooks from his bookbag and stacked them on the coffee table.

He didn't want to be doing homework, but it was a rule Peter lived by. School before Spider-Man. He'd promised Tony.

"See, Tony? I can do this. No problem."

The house creaked in response. Nobody was there to hear him.

He finished his homework. He double checked his answers, and when he was satisfied everything was correct, he pulled his vending machine dinner out from his bookbag, a soda and a bag of chips. He turned up the volume, ate, and waited for May to come home from work.

Peter considered going out as Spider-Man, but if he did that, he wouldn't get to see her at all, so he sat. He watched TV, he waited. When the front door finally did come open, and May walked inside, she was followed by Greg.

"Hey May," said Peter. He turned backwards on the couch and sat up on his knees. Greg walked past them both without a word, and he headed towards the kitchen.

"Hi Peter," she greeted. "How as your day?"

"Fine, hey do you want to watch a movie?"

"Oh honey, I wish I could," said May. "Work really has me beat today, I was going to take a shower and go straight to bed."

"Oh, okay," said Peter, deflating. He turned back around and sat back down on the couch properly.

"But hey," said May. "Tomorrow my shift ends early, and Greg has his support group, maybe we can get ice cream from our favorite spot and watch Catfish, like we used to."

The suggestion was a light in the dark. It was a promise to return to normal, to return to the like before, and that was the only thing Peter wanted.

"I can pick some up on the way home from school," said Peter.

May smiled at him. "Sounds like a date. I know I've been busy lately, but I really am glad you're here."

Peter nodded, letting her know he understood, and watched her disappear up the stairs. Her presence was replaced by Greg's, who came out of the kitchen with a plate of food and a glass of water. He gave Peter a look as he sat down into the armchair but didn't say a word.

"Uh, hey, Greg," said Peter. "Good day?"

"Yeah," he said. His eyes were on the TV, then slowly moved to Peter. "It could be better, though."

Peter knew the feeling.

He packed up his books and notebooks, shoving them inside his bookbag, before strapping it to his back and leaving Greg in the living room without another word. He went upstairs, to his bedroom, where he intended to spend the rest of his evening.

Later that night, Peter laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, sounds of more arguing drifting through the walls. More angry words about all the money they didn't have, how they shouldn't have bought a house. May yelled back, she told him she wasn't doing… something. Peter didn't hear the rest.

He grabbed his headphones out from where they were hidden under his bed and put them over his ears. Peter had decided on that hiding spot when he saw Greg eying them. The very last thing he needed was for May's loser boyfriend to start pawning all his stuff for cash.

* * *

Thinking about ice cream and mindless reality TV and the return of the time of before tortured Peter throughout all his classes. He watched the clock tick. He counted down the minutes before the last bell of the day released him onto the streets and into the fall air.

His feet found the ice cream parlor automatically. It was an old routine, something that hadn't done in a long time, but his feet never forgot. Either did he.

He picked out their favorite flavor and paid, once again, with the credit card he'd gotten from Tony. There was probably something to be said about irony, about how when Peter lived with Tony, he was always told he didn't spend enough allowance, and now that he didn't live with him, he was using spending too much.

He felt guilty about it now, though. It wasn't Tony's responsibility to pay for him. Not anymore.

With the ice cream in a plastic bag, Peter made it back to the Brooklyn house only to be crushed on arrival.

The house was empty. There was a note attached to the fridge, and it read: Had to help Greg with the support group tonight, rain check? Be back home at around nine, love May. She drew hearts to prove her love. Even she knew her words didn't mean very much.

Peter shoved the ice cream in the freezer and went out as Spider-Man. He hoped to find a fight he couldn't win, that way he'd hurt just as bad on the outside as he did on the inside, but he came back to the Brooklyn house with only a few fresh bruises.

May and Greg were already sleeping by the time Peter crept through his window. It figured. He supposed hearing snores through the walls was better than hearing them arguing.

He changed from his spidey suit to his pajamas, and by chance, found Tony's watch at the bottom of his dresser drawer. He'd hidden it there for the same reason he kept his headphones tucked away. He stared at it a few seconds, wondered what Tony was doing, then clicked it on his wrist.

Peter retrieved his headphones, put them over his ears, and shut his eyes, listening to AC/DC, and pretending he was on the couch down in Tony's workshop, where he'd fallen asleep plenty of times before.

He woke up to someone shaking his shoulder. Gently, and comforting, and when Peter opened his eyes, that feeling of comfort made complete sense, only it didn't make sense.

"Tony?" said Peter, taking off his headphones. He rubbed his eyes, and saw it was definitely Tony. Classically concerned Tony, his face scrunched up with worry. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, I live here," said Tony. "What are you doing here?"

Peter looked around. He wasn't in the guest bedroom in the Brooklyn house. He was in the workshop, in the penthouse, on the couch, with no clue how he got there.

* * *

A/N: happppy Friday, and thanks for reading!


	21. brooklyn part 7

"I don't remember," said Peter, as he propped his elbows up against the kitchen table for support and rubbed his temples.

He blinked at the footage playing out on Tony's laptop. It didn't make any sense. He watched himself walk, barefoot, headphones on, with a blank stare in his eyes, up the sidewalk to Pepper and Tony's building, through the lobby, and into the elevator. The feed switched to the camera footage down in the workshop, and Peter watched as he stepped out of the elevator, went directly to the couch, and crashed.

"I don't remember any of this," he repeated, looking up at Tony, as he placed a mug of hot chocolate in front of him on the table.

Tony hummed and walked out of the kitchen. When he came back just a couple of seconds later, he had a throw blanket that he draped over Peter's shoulders. He recognized it as the blanket that normally lived on the couch, that he'd fallen asleep with plenty of times on movie nights.

He hugged it closer to his body.

He wasn't cold, not exactly. The footage showed he'd been asleep in the workshop a couple of hours, more than long enough to warm up, before Tony had found him there.

But still, the blanket was nice. It was home.

"Looks like you were sleep walking," said Tony, as he sat down on the stool next to him. He angled his body so he was facing the Peter, just as Peter was facing the table and the laptop, where surveillance footage continued to play. "Have you ever slept walked before?"

Peter shook his head and traced the Stark Industries logo printed on the mug with his finger, while Tony watched him.

"Everything's okay, over at May's?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," said Peter. "Everything's great."

"Peter."

"It's fine," he stressed. "Umm, I was just thinking, before I went to bed, about our nights in the workshop, and I had just put my watch on- "

"-you put your watch on before you laid down to sleep?"

Peter paused. He didn't know how to admit he'd really just put it on because he needed to feel close to Tony, close to home.

"No, what I meant to say, was I forgot to take it off," said Peter, ignoring the look Tony gave him, the way his eyes narrowed like they could cut right through the lie. "It really isn't a big deal. It's not going to happen again."

But it could happen again, and the frown on Tony's face told Peter they both knew that was the truth.

"You can tell me if something is wrong– "

"-Tony, just drop it, please," said Peter. He looked down inside his mug and watched the steam waft up off the hot cocoa.

"Okay," said Tony. He was so quick to back off, Peter snapped his head back up to stare in shock as Tony raised his hands up in surrender.

Peter must've really sounded worn. He must really look defeated, if even Tony refused to press him any further.

"Peter?"

He turned and saw Pepper, still in her slippers, pajamas and robe, slowly walking into the kitchen to join them.

"Are you okay? What are you doing here so early?"

Peter got stuck on his words again. He didn't know how to answer such a complicated question or tell her about sleeping walking across the city in a way that wouldn't invite a series of even more questions. He didn't want to make Pepper worry, the same way he made Tony worry.

"He walked here from Brooklyn last night," said Tony. "In his sleep."

Peter imagined the word fragile was stamped across his forehead, because although alarm was written into every angle of Pepper's face, she didn't verbalize it. He wondered if he was giving a vibe, he wondered when everyone started tiptoeing around him like he had to do every morning to avoid waking up Greg.

"I'm glad you're okay," said Pepper. She rested her hand on his shoulder and wiped the hair out his forehead. "Does May know where you are?"

He and Tony looked at each other. Neither of them had even thought about calling her, or if Tony had, he hadn't mentioned it out loud. Peter knew they were both avoiding it for the same reason. Peter didn't want to go back to Brooklyn, and Tony didn't want him to, either.

Pepper probably didn't want him to leave, either, but she wasn't cruel in her carelessness the way Peter and Tony were. She stayed logical, considerate, and she left them in the kitchen to retrieve her phone and give May a call. May, who Pepper had claimed on her way out, must be worried sick.

Probably, May hadn't even realized Peter wasn't in his bedroom, but he kept that thought to himself. He didn't want to tempt Tony into reverting back into interrogation mode, and to his credit, he didn't seem anywhere close. His jaw was loose, his shoulders were dropped, he was relaxed.

He gave Peter's elbow a nudge, and said, "Come on, let's make breakfast."

He'd forgotten how chaotic cooking with Tony could be, how quickly the kitchen became a mess, and he forgot the way Pepper's voice sounded when she reprimanded them about picking up after themselves, firm but ultimately, lighthearted.

He'd forgotten what it was like to eat with other people, to hold conversations over meals when he wasn't at school with his friends. To smile with family, to laugh with them, without having to worry about saying the wrong words at the wrong time.

He'd forgotten the simple peace that just came with being home.

Home. He'd only been away from it for a week. It felt like a lot longer.

The family of three sat at the kitchen, long after their food was gone, pretending that everything was normal. After breakfast they would go on and have a completely normal Saturday. Maybe Peter would go to Ned's, or maybe Ned would come over, and they'd play video games. Maybe Peter and Tony would go downstairs and tinker in the workshop until Pepper had to make them both go to sleep.

They didn't talk about Brooklyn, or about Greg, or even about May. Not since Pepper called her, so it was a punch to the gut when the elevator dinged, the doors slid open, and May rushed out and into the penthouse.

May had both her hands on Peter's cheeks within seconds. Behind her, Greg loitered around in the foyer, shuffling his feet and refusing to come any further in the penthouse.

"Peter are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

She withdrew her cold, shaking hands and stepped back.

"He doesn't remember anything," said Tony, while May kept her eyes locked on Peter. They were wide, big with concern. Maybe she did care, maybe it took sleep walking for her to realize. "Just going to sleep in his bed and waking up here."

Out in the foyer, Greg made a noise under his breath, and Tony narrowed his eyes at him. His jaw tightened. Relaxed Tony was gone. Just like Peter's fleeting seconds of peace.

"Problem?"

"No," said Greg. He took his phone out of his pocket, and made a big deal about checking the time, before putting it back. "We just don't have time to stand around and talk about this all day."

Peter knew the exact look in Tony's eyes. He knew it as the 'stop talking now' look, as the 'back away', or 'play dead immediately' look. He hated being on the receiving end of it, but he didn't mind so much when it was leveled at Greg, and Pepper, who usually stepped in when that look came out, remained mysteriously oblivious to it.

"Yeah," said May. Her eyes flicking back and forth between Tony and Greg. She reached out, and gripped her hand around Peter's arm, tugging at him until he stood up from his chair. "We should really be heading out, busy day and all."

"You don't think we should talk about this?" asked Pepper. "And come up with a solution? So it doesn't happen again? He really can't be out there wandering – "

"-It won't happen again," said May. She continued pulling him towards the elevator, and Peter continued to let her. She was scared, but he couldn't decide what she was afraid of more, his sleepwalking, or the increasing possibility of Tony not letting her take Peter out of the penthouse.

But it wasn't Tony who stopped them. It was Pepper.

"Wait," she said, as they got to the elevator door. Peter felt May's grip loosen. "He needs shoes. I'm sure he still has a pair in his closet. Just give me a few seconds."

She was gone for longer than just a few seconds.

It gave Peter enough time to break away from May and hug Tony goodbye. Tony's hand rested on his shoulder before they broke apart, and he told him, quiet enough for only Peter to hear, that he and Pepper were only a phone call or a text away.

When Pepper finally did return with Peter's shoes, she'd been gone for so long, he suspected it was intentional. Probably to give him and Tony time, probably to troll Greg, or most likely, it was both, but in the end, it didn't matter.

Peter put on his shoes, got into the elevator, and stared at Tony and Pepper until the doors slid shut, until he was trapped, alone, in a small space with May and Greg.

* * *

The car ride home was silent.

There wasn't idle chatting, or even music on the radio. May's eyes were set out the window, as she twisted the ends of her hair, and Peter looked down at his hands, trying to focus on Tony's watch on his wrist, instead of the way Greg would occasionally glare at him through the rearview mirror.

He'd broken one of the most important rules with his sleepwalking adventure. He'd interrupted Greg's sleep, probably, or at the very least, inconvenienced him and his time. The rule may have been unspoken, but just like the silence in the car, very real, very apparent, to everyone except May.

Or maybe she wasn't clueless, maybe she was just pretending she didn't notice the tension, the way Greg parked crooked in the driveway, then slammed his car door shut when got out of the car.

"Let's do our ice cream day today, Pete, how 'about it?" asked May, as they stepped inside the house, with all the fake brightness in her voice. It wasn't genuine, but it still contrasted against Greg.

"So you're just going to reward him for bad behavior?" asked Greg. He slammed the house door, too.

"It's not rewarding bad behavior," said May. "It wasn't his fault. He was sleepwalking."

"That's bullshit, and you know it," said Greg. "Little shit's been sneaking out."

"He has not- "

"Don't be stupid, May, like the Starks. We're barely surviving, trying to feed and house this kid and he's so selfish and ungrateful he's trying to sneak back off to the where he's spoiled, where he's got it easy."

"That's not true," said Peter.

Greg glared at him. For a split second, his eyes flickered down to Tony's watch on Peter's wrist, then back up at Peter.

"Maybe it isn't," said Greg, his voice softer, his anger and frustration disappeared, almost like magic, like a switch had been flipped. "But none of this would be so stressful if May would just do as I asked her and have Stark pay child support."

May released a long, slow breath, and Peter had a feeling he was stumbling into a very old argument.

"Tony isn't his father, Greg," said May. "Something we were both very clear about when you were encouraging me to get him back."

Peter blinked, and the room went silent again. They were both wrong, but at least Peter knew the truth, the reason he was really here. He was just a ticket for Greg to make a grab at some extra cash, and something else for May. A trophy, maybe, someone who lived with her so she could look at him and didn't have to feel guilty about pawning him off.

Greg and May glared at each other, and the floorboards creaked under Peter's shuffling feet.

"We can't do this in front of him," said May, causing Greg to back up to the staircase and mutter something under his breath, before retreating upstairs. Once he was completely gone, May turned around, put her head up and shot Peter with another fake smile. "So, how about it? Ice Cream?"

"Yeah, sure," said Peter, but he was talking to her back. She had already turned again and walked off towards the kitchen.

They sat down on the couch with giant bowls of ice cream, switched on the TV, and pretended like nothing had happened. That they were back in Queens and May didn't know about Spider-Man and she hadn't given him away to Tony.

Or, at least, that's what Peter tried to do.

He didn't believe anything could ever be the way it was before. They were different people, trying to do the same old things, afraid of losing something between them that was long gone and not coming back, and Peter didn't want it, too.

He wanted his family with Tony and Pepper. He wanted to go back to his bedroom, while it was still his bedroom, before Tony gave up on him and decided to turn it back into a guestroom.

Peter glanced at May, who's eyes were peeled on the screen, and wondered how he could ever get out of this, how he could leave her without crushing her. If there was anything he wouldn't wish on anyone, it was the grief that came with being abandoned.

* * *

The next morning, Peter was locked away in his bedroom, sitting on his floor in the middle of an ocean of textbooks and notebooks and different colored pens. Sleep was his new enemy, and he'd fought it off by studying, by making elaborate color-coded notes, by making flashcards with decathlon questions and memorizing them.

It'd been successful.

He hadn't slept and therefore hadn't slept walked.

A couple of empty cans of Monster littered the floor alongside his study materials. He owed his success to caffeine, for sure, and the little twenty-four gas station down the street. Peter had been starting to doze off just after midnight, and, after striping himself of anything valuable, most importantly Tony's watch, so he wouldn't get mugged, he made the walk to buy himself some energy.

It was almost time to make that walk again, though. His eyes were having trouble focusing, the words of his flashcards danced around. He was straining his eyes when he heard a knock on the front door, then he pulled himself up into a sitting position and strained his ears.

"Pepper," said May, from down below, after the door opened with a creak. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought over some more of Peter's things," she told May. It was nice to hear her voice, even from one floor above. "And I just thought, I thought we might be able to talk, privately."

"Oh, okay. Sure," said May, with hesitance.

The door shut, and there was more shuffling of feet. Something hit the floor, leaving Peter to guess it was whatever Pepper had brought over for him, maybe a bag of something. He didn't know. He couldn't imagine what was so important that Pepper Potts needed to hand deliver it to him, on a Sunday.

An excuse to check up on them, maybe. A Tony-ish scheme carried out by someone with a little more grace and tack.

"Tony's really worried," said Pepper, straight to the point, in the kindest way possible. Peter missed that, her gentle honesty. "He's worried about what could happen if he sleep walks again, and I am, too."

"I appreciate your concern," said May. "But really, it hasn't happened before, I don't think it'll happen again. He was fine last night."

Peter looked around his bedroom floor. Manic studying, it was fine. Caffeine dosing, that was fine, too, except he had a feeling neither Pepper nor Tony would agree. This probably wasn't what Tony had in mind when he made him promise to keep up with his school work.

"Peter's master about hiding how he really feels, especially if he's trying to protect someone from getting hurt."

"What are you trying to say?"

"That Tony and I think it'd be a good idea to get him into therapy," said Pepper "And the whole family, actually. I think we should find a family therapist, and maybe set up a schedule."

"…a schedule?"

"For where Peter spends his time, and when."

It was simple, but Peter had never thought of that before. He didn't stop to think that he could actually have both, that if didn't have to be one or the other. He could have _both._ Both. A compromise. He'd only have to be miserable part of the time, and he'd heard anything so wonderful in a long time. His bliss didn't last long, though.

May wasn't interested in compromises.

"So, you think I'm the problem?"

"No I didn't say- "

"-you think he slept walked over there, to get away from me?"

"You're putting words in my mouth," said Pepper, composed, still gentle, besides May but anything but that.

"You and Tony think you know what's best for him more than I do," said May. "But he's my nephew, I've known him since he was a baby. He's family and I know what's best for him, and what's best is for you and Tony to stay out of it."

"May- "

"-you should go," said May. "I'll make sure he gets his stuff."

"Just think about it," said Pepper, as feet walked across the downstairs floor. "I think we both know what an unhappy kid looks like."

The door shut, and Peter scrambled to his feet. He ran to his window, getting there just in time to see Pepper get into a car. He put his palm on the glass as she drove away and watched until her black car turned off the road and was out of sight.

He turned around, sharp and sudden, and scurried towards his bedroom door. If Pepper left something for him, he needed to get to it before Greg got his hands on it, and that's when he stopped, with his hand on the doorknob, when his thoughts went to Greg and the way he loved money and the way he had looked at Tony's watch.

The watch that Peter wasn't wearing, that he'd taken off and put on his bed over walking to the gas station. The watch that was no longer on his bed. The watch that was missing. His watch was missing. _Tony's_ watch was missing.

His breath caught, and the room spun, but then his panic exploded into anger. At May. At Greg. At himself, because he threw away a family for someone who was never going to do the same for him. He took a steadying breath, trying to calm and quiet all the thoughts screaming at him, and decided that, maybe, May would this time, like when she stood up for him the day before.

Maybe he should give her one last chance.

He found her and Greg in the kitchen, talking low voices, standing way too close to each other for Peter to believe their argument from yesterday was still going on.

"Where's my watch?" asked Peter, although it was more of an accusation than it was question, as well as an interruption. Peter didn't care. Whatever they were talking about wasn't as important as this felt.

May opened her mouth, then closed, seeming to change her mind. The smug expression on Greg's face was an answer, but it wasn't enough. Peter needed to hear it, out loud.

"Where it is?"

"I sold it," said Greg, simply. "I figured since we're not getting child support, we could use the extra cash to help us get by. It's worth more in bills than it is to tell time, right? Who uses watches anymore when we have smartphones?"

Peter looked away from Greg without response and aimed his attention to May, instead.

"He sold my watch."

She still didn't say anything. Just stood there, next to Greg, making it clear that this time, she was taking his side.

"Aren't you going to do anything?" Peter pressed on, anyway, trying to keep the shake out of his voice, trying to keep tears from his eyes. Both he blamed on being so, so tired, tired in a way sleep probably couldn't fix. "He stole my watch."

"Honey, he didn't exactly steal it," said May. "It was in his house, and this way we'll have some extra money… we'll get you another one."

Another one. A different watch just like months ago when he broke his cellphone and Tony got him a new one. He didn't want another one, and he was tired of explaining to everyone that it just wasn't the same, that it wasn't ever really about cellphones or watches.

So he didn't.

He turned his back and stomped up the stairs, into his room, where he collapsed down on his bed and shoved his face in his pillow. There wasn't any more caffeine to keep him awake, but that was okay. It was alright to sleep. He hoped, as he let his eyes shut, that when he woke up, it'd be the first day of school again, that everything up until that point had just been a twisted dream and May had stayed gone.

* * *

A/N: happy Friday!

thanks to anyone follwoing and commenting on this story, the responses have been so amazing these last couple of chapters so THANK YOU so much, I'm so happy people love reading this story as much as I love writing it ! !


	22. brooklyn part 8

Peter tossed, and turned, and wrestled with his blanket, but he never fell asleep. Not completely. He hovered in a half-sleep, going back and forth between reality and dreams, switching between being furious that his watch was gone and grieving because there would never be another one like it.

He was haunted by what he lost, what was _stolen_ from him, but then his nightmares changed, and he was haunted by who he lost instead. Ben Parker faded in and out, flickering, like a radio with a bad connection.

Sometimes Ben was generous and warm – just like Peter remembered when his head was clear, and he was wide awake.

Sometimes Ben was sad like his nightmare weeks ago and moving in with May hadn't fixed that. He was still sad, definitely disappointed. Peter didn't have the remedy for it. He'd tried his best, but in the end, it hadn't been up to just him.

Sometimes Ben was angry, furious not at Peter, but _for_ Peter, the same way Tony had been that day in the car, when he found out May had catapulted herself back into his life. Angry Ben was Peter's favorite. Imagining him coming back from the grave and haunting Greg was a good enough goodnight story for Peter to be still in his bed, to just barely reach that deep, dark place of rest.

But then, his alarm rang. His eyes snapped opened. He was fully awake and knew all those versions of Ben were imaginary. Ben was dead. He wasn't a ghost. He wasn't coming back for him. He wasn't warm or sad or angry, he was just gone. Not completely unlike May. She wasn't coming back, either, only pretended to.

He wiped tears off his cheeks with his sleeve and sat up, way too fast. The room spun, his vision blurred, and his hands shook, but he ignored all that. He threw his legs over the bed and stood up anyway.

Monday morning, time for school. Ben had taught him to honor his promises, and it was twice as important to honor Tony's. It was the last thing he had left to hang onto. It couldn't be stolen and sold the same way a watch could.

Tony wasn't dead. It was a thought that played on repeated over and over again as Peter got dressed, as he brushed his teeth and grabbed his bookbag, and ran down the stairs. Pepper wasn't dead, either. Just across town. He'd made the wrong choice. He'd traded his family for something lifeless, something that belonged on a shelve.

On his way out of the house, he didn't both grabbing anything for breakfast. He was the kind of hungry that wanted food but also didn't want food, the kind of hungry that was all sharp pains, telling him if he did try to eat, he'd probably just puke it all back up, anyway.

School didn't help. It was too loud. It was all slamming lockers, metal screeching against metal, students talking over each other, bouncing off the walls. He went to straight to class, shoved himself in his desk, hoping it might get quiet, but it just got worse.

Even after the bell rang, even after their teacher shushed them and the chattering died out, the noise in his head was cranked up and he couldn't control the volume.

 _the watch is gone the watch is gone you lost Tony's watch_

"Dude are you okay?" Ned whispered, from the desk next to him. "You're looking kind of… sick."

He didn't answer.

Peter, instead, tried to focus on the car alarm that was sounding, somewhere outside, tried to be anywhere at all that wasn't there in that classroom, or there, trapped in his own head, with the record stuck on repeat. He shut his eyes, shoved his elbows up on his desk and used them to prop up his head, placing his hands over his ears. It didn't help.

His legs started to bounce, the lights were too bright, and he couldn't take it anymore. He put his hand up and asked to be excused, not bothering to wait for an answer before bolting from his chair and out into the hallway, where the walls were narrower and seemed to be closing in.

He staggered his way to the bathroom, just barely making it into a stall, falling down on his knees just in time to choke up stomach acid.

Once he was finished, he scooted backwards, out of the stall, but stayed sitting on the bathroom floor. He put his head between his knees, his back against the wall, and cried, hoping that by some miracle no one would walk in on him while he wrecked his brain.

He couldn't go back to Brooklyn. He couldn't go back to that house and pretended that everything was okay, but he couldn't go back there and be honest, either. How much honesty could May take before she broke down? Or maybe, that was just a lie, from Greg, to get him to move in, because he thought it'd mean a payout.

Peter didn't have a home. Not anymore. It was just him and the bathroom floor, a disgusting place that he couldn't convince himself to leave.

He didn't know how long he sat there, like that, head between his knees, but it was long enough to be interrupted.

The door squeaked open, and Peter lifted his head, quickly rubbed at his eyes, hoping that whoever was about to come through the door wasn't the type to start rumors, or just… wasn't Flash, but as it turned out, he didn't have anything to worry about.

Tony stepped through the door and Peter felt a wave of relief spread through him, like warm blanket on a cold day.

"Tony," said Peter, a shake in his voice. He looked up at him, as the man walked over and lowered himself to floor. "What are you doing here?"

"Ned texted me," said Tony. "Do you wanna explain what's got him so worried? Or why we're sitting here on this disgusting floor?"

Peter wanted to laugh, but instead he cried. He dove his head down into Tony's chest and wrapped his arms around him and knew he wouldn't be able to let go. He wasn't going back to Brooklyn. He was going to stay there forever, and when he felt Tony's hug him back, he knew that he could, that Tony still wanted him.

"I'm sorry," said Peter, into Tony's suit jacket.

"For what?"

"I screwed up, and I… I lost your watch."

"Oh kid… that's okay, we'll find it."

Peter shook his head. They wouldn't, they couldn't, who knew where Greg sold it, or who he sold it to, and Peter didn't plan on sticking around him long enough to find out. Seeing Tony again, hugging him, crying on him, that was all he needed, all he needed to make a decision.

"I want to go home."

"Alright, okay," said Tony. "I'll drive you home."

Peter lifted his head and looked Tony in his eyes. "No. I need to _come home_ , to the penthouse, with you and Pepper."

"Oh, thank god," said Tony, as he let out a breath. He put his hand through Peter's hair and guided his head back to rest on his chest. "It was getting harder and harder to pretend I was okay with all this."

"Why did you? Pretend?"

"Some things you have to learn for yourself. I didn't want you to torture yourself, with what could've been, or resent me, because I never let you figure it out," said Tony. "Besides, I always knew you'd make the right decision, eventually."

Peter wasn't sure what he ever did to warrant Tony's trust, but he was glad to have it. He stayed nestled against Tony, perfectly content to stay there like that and hear the quiet and let sleep come for him. He could fall asleep there, no problem, and maybe he would have, but his stomach growled, funny and loud, making Peter realize the pains in his stomach left when Tony had arrived.

"You hungry, kid?"

"Yeah, just a little."

"… when was the last time you ate?"

"Umm," said Peter. He rearranged his head, trying not to smile at how quickly things slid back to normal, how fast Tony resumed his regular scheduled helicoptering. "… I had a monster yesterday."

"A _what?"_ asked Tony. He lifted Peter up and away from him by his shoulders. "We're going home and you're going to eat actual food instead of chugging down caffeine and then you're going to take a nap. You look like you haven't slept in years."

"I was afraid to sleep," said Peter, watching Tony as he stood, then accepted his hand-up. He intentionally left out the part about being too angry to sleep. Maybe Tony wasn't ready to hear that yet. "I didn't want to sleepwalk again."

"You really think I would've let that happen a second time? I set up some surveillance bots around May's place, if you would've slipped into zombie mode I would've known within seconds."

"Oh…" Peter followed Tony out of the bathroom and let the door drop shut behind them. "Thank god."

Tony laughed and put his arm around him as they walk to the front office, where Tony signed him out of the school, and left through the main doors. Tony's car was parked out front, waiting for them. It was the best thing Peter had seen in a long time, the car that would take him home.

* * *

"So," said Tony. "Where did you last have your watch? We can retrace your steps and find it."

Peter shoveled a spoon full of soup in his mouth, savoring it, taking his time, so he could avoid answering Tony's question. He was hesitant to reveal the truth. He didn't want to think about May or Greg or his lost watch. He just wanted to be there, in the moment, sitting in the kitchen, talking to Tony.

He missed talking to Tony. Just being around him, really. He was safety, in person form, and Peter hadn't realized it until he walked into that bathroom, hadn't realized how ungrounded and anxious he'd been without him.

His soup didn't buy him much time, though. Tony stared at him from the other side of the table, an expectant look plastered across his face.

 _He knew_. Somehow, Tony knew something was off about his story, and the look on his face told Peter he was determined to get to the bottom of it. It was no use, then, stalling or lying. The truth was the only way.

"I didn't exactly lose it," admitted Peter. "Greg kind of stole it."

"Excuse me, what?"

"Peter!" Pepper walked into the kitchen, her heels clicked against the floor. She pressed a kiss against his hair from behind. "I'm hoping that since you're here and it's daylight hours, it means you're back for good."

"Yeah, I am."

"Good," said Pepper, walking to Tony's side of the table and into Peter's view. She grinned at him. "It was getting a little boring around here."

"Hey," said Tony, but even Pepper couldn't distract him for longer than a couple of seconds. "Pete, what were you saying?"

Peter swirled his soup around with his spoon, only to drop it and let it slide against the rim of the bowl. "Uh, he kind of sold it, because May wouldn't ask you to pay child support, I needed to earn my way somehow."

The kitchen went silent. Tony's face went tight, then started switching, and Pepper watched him with concern. Peter was concerned, too. He thought maybe he was having a heart attack, or a stroke, or maybe a brain aneurysm, and there was a strange satisfaction in that. Some kind of validation Peter didn't know he needed until he had it.

Tony was speechlessly angry, and so Peter felt like he had a right to be angry about his watch, too. That it _was_ stolen, no matter how May justified it or tried to say that it wasn't really actually stealing.

Tony stood up from his chair. "He's dead – "

"-Tony," started Pepper. "Maybe you should- "

"Oh relax, you know I don't really mean dead. Maybe just a bit mangled with a few broken limbs, he has to be alive to feel the pain and all that," said Tony. His eyes fell back on Peter, as he stopped on his way towards the foyer, towards the elevator. "Try to get some sleep, okay? I'm going to go get your stuff and have a chat with Greg."

He marched off, and Peter jumped up from his seat. He wasn't ready to be away from Tony yet, even if it was just the short amount of time it took him to go to Brooklyn and retrieve all of Peter's belongings and probably also beat someone up. Peter followed Tony to the elevator, and Pepper followed Peter.

"Tony wait!"

He paused, his hand hovering in front of the call button.

"I just thought we could watch a few movies?" asked Peter. "To help me sleep. I've been having trouble-"

"-Tony," said Pepper. "Stay here and watch movies with your son, he misses you."

Tony's eyes flickered back and forth between them, then he relented. "Yeah, okay, let's watch some movies."

So they did what Peter wanted, and forgot all about Greg and May, pushed them to the side where Pete was determined they should stay. He sat on the couch, between his parents and snuggled into Tony's side, and did his best not to feel the dread about the inevitable confrontation. Instead, he focused on Star Wars, and Tony's fingers mindlessly working their way through his hair, lulling him to sleep.

He shut his eyes. Sleep came for him fast.

* * *

When he woke up, he was laying long ways on the couch. Someone had put a pillow under his head and a pillow over his body, and there were voices. Angry voices. Peter sat up, and looked over the back of the couch, where Tony, Pepper, Greg and May were standing just a few feet away.

Greg passed Tony one of Peter's duffel bags.

"Should I go through it? Make sure everything's in there?"

"Come on, Stark, you don't actually believe – "

"-my kid doesn't lie," said Tony, with absolute certainty. "Not about shit like this."

Peter gripped the back of the couch, waiting for May to interject and tell Tony what he already knew, that Peter wasn't lying. She had been there. She knew, but she didn't say anything. Just stood next to Greg, with her eyes racing around the room, and continued to let him on go telling a lie no one believed.

"Where is it? Where did you sell it?" demanded Tony, after the room had gotten quiet.

"I didn't take your precious child's watch," said Greg. May was still silent, her eyes went back and forth between Greg and Tony, who's fist was twitching. "Maybe if you two would stop treating him like he was a prince, he wouldn't be such a little bitch about ever – "

Greg didn't finish his sentence. Pepper had put herself between him and Tony and knocked him a good one in the side of his nose. He yelped, stumbled backwards, and put his hand to his nose, which was gushing blood, all over the carpet.

May stayed still. Tony looked back and forth between Greg and Pepper, lost somewhere between extreme jealousy and being completely in love with his wife, and Peter, taking everything in, laughed.

He regretted it immediately.

Peter gained the attention of all the adults in the room, except Greg's, who was still fussing over his bleeding nose. Peter locked eyes with May, who's face fell, who looked away in an instant, to direct her attention back to Tony.

"Can I have a few minutes alone with him?" she asked.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"No, Tony, it's okay," said Peter, scrambling off the couch, keeping his eyes on May. "We should… we should talk."

Tony still didn't look happy about it, but he nodded his agreement, and Peter and May went back to Peter's bedroom. It was exactly the same as Peter had left it before moving in with May and Greg. He couldn't wait until all this was over, until he was just home, in his room, without May looking at him with a titled head and fake concern.

The lights had switched on as they entered, and Peter wished that they wouldn't have. He would rather have this conversation in the dark.

"Peter… is this what your really want?" asked May, looking around the room. "This is your decision?"

"Who's else would it be?"

"Well, Tony's," she told him. "It was just… sudden. One minute I'm at work thinking about what to make for dinner, then the next Tony is calling me, telling me he wants to set up a time to come get your things."

"Sudden?" he repeated. "Like, you ditching me and moving across the country?"

"Peter – "

"-No, it's the truth. I'm tired of not saying what's on my mind because it might upset you. It's what happened and it's what you did, and you keep talking about Tony like he's the bad guy when he's the one who's actually been here… and, he let me decide for myself, which is more than you did."

"What does that mean?"

"It doesn't matter," said Peter. "Just don't pretend like this is all on Tony, when you're the one who left, and you wouldn't even talk to me- "

"-I thought it would make things easier."

"For who, exactly?" asked Peter. "And it didn't. You wouldn't even call me when I was in the hospital, then you just showed up out of nowhere and pretended nothing happened, but I'm tired of pretending I'm not still angry just because it might make things harder on you with your depression."

"What?" asked May, and the tone caught Peter off guard. It was said with genuine surprise and confusion. "That's why you moved – what?" She bunched up her face, shook her head and took a couple of steps backwards. "Never mind, I should just go."

She bolted from the room, leaving Peter shocked for a couple of seconds before he snapped out of it and followed her.

"Wait, May," he said, as he trailed her back into the main room, where Greg had a cloth pressed up against his nose and Tony and Pepper were happily ignoring him.

She ignored Peter, pulled Greg towards the elevator by his arm, and muttered a few dismissive goodbyes to Tony and Pepper, before the two of them disappeared into the elevator. Peter watched the doors slid shut, feeling hollowed out, in a good way.

He'd told May the truth, he'd gotten everything off his chest, and now he was empty, and a little sad. He never really wanted this. He wanted Tony and Pepper _and_ May, but he couldn't imagine ever seeing her again, or at least her being in his life, after everything that had happened.

Peter turned, and with a few steps, put himself back in Tony's arms, planted his head below his shoulder.

"You did good, kid," said Tony

He hoped he was right, and he hoped if heaven was real, and Ben was looking down on them, that he'd forgive him, that he'd understand.

* * *

A/N: so there's just one chapter to this part of the story left! I hope to have it out by next weekend, but quote my on that

thanks so much for reading, you guys have been amazing!


	23. brooklyn epilogue

Peter's toes were in the sand, and he was soaked.

It was raining and he didn't really care, at least not enough to go back into the hotel room and grab some rain gear. It was a soft rain, anyway. A soft, golden rain, with the sun still out, shining over the ocean and through the raindrops as they shattered into the sand and on the waves.

He'd read once that it was called orphan's tears when the sun was shining and the rain was falling, but he could never really wrap his head around how something so beautiful could have such a sad name.

He didn't want to think about it. How something could be sad but beautiful, how something could be one way but also another.

He walked towards the water, chucks of wet sand were flipped up by his sandals as he edged closer. The beaches off the Canary Islands were different, somehow, than the ones off Coney Island, or even the ones near the beach house back in Malibu. Peter supposed that was the idea.

They had decided to escape the city for Christmas break that year. Peter hadn't liked the idea at first. It'd been spontaneous, and the result of a weather report predicting an arctic freeze blowing through the east coast. Spiders didn't do well in freezing temperatures and Peter didn't do well with Tony fussing at him about giant coats and scarves and a pair of actual mittens he'd tried to come at him with, so they ended up getting on the jet and flying somewhere warm.

Christmas outside the city was odd. Didn't really feel like Christmas, but on his last day there, Peter didn't want to leave it behind.

It'd grown on him.

He blamed Tony. He just walked around smiling, so damn happy, calling it their 'familymoon' since it was their first getaway as a legally recognized family, since the day Tony and Pepper had their wedding and Peter officially became a Stark.

They had gotten dressed up in suits and ties, and Pepper wore a simple, elegant white dress. Peter watched with Happy and Rhodey as Tony and Pepper exchanged vows inside the court building downtown. When they finished, they rushed into an elevator, rode it up to another floor, ran through some hallways and finally, inside a courtroom, where a judge signed papers and he officially became their son.

Often, Tony said that was the happiest day of his life, and often, Peter felt guilty, because it wasn't his. It had been a beautiful day, but for Peter, it had also been sad, and that was okay, or at least, that's what his therapist kept trying to explain, over and over again.

"Tony's never had a real family," she had told him. "He got a wife and a son, all in one day, but you've had two families and lost them both."

It did make sense, but Peter still felt guilty. He tried not to, tried to focus on how happy Tony and Pepper were, despite him not always feeling the same way.

He adjusted his feet in the sand and settled on a spot where the waves just barely licked his toes.

"Pete."

He turned in place, and saw Tony standing behind him, wearing a rain jacket with the hood up.

"Ready?" he asked. "Jet's supposed to leave in fifteen."

"Yeah, I'm coming," said Peter. He gave the ocean, the rain, and the golden sky one last look, before following Tony back up the path to the hotel, where they grabbed their bags and headed to the airport.

* * *

"Maybe next time we can fly public," said Peter, climbing on to the jet, and tossing his bags off to the side.

"Excuse me what the hell?" asked Tony, while Pepper laughed.

Peter didn't see why it was a scandalous thing to say, or why it was funny. He'd only ever been in the air on one of Tony's private planes, and now that his last name was Stark, he figured he missed his chance at public air travel.

He took a seat at a table by the window, and Tony sat down across from him. Pepper went off to one of the couches on the opposite end of the jet, to catch up on emails, but really, Peter suspected, she was going to nap.

"It'd be fun," said Peter, leaning back in the chair. "Like an adventure."

"Getting sneezed on and having my personal space invaded by strangers is not my idea of fun and adventure."

Peter shrugged. "Could be."

"Nope," said Tony. "That's an adventure you're taking on your own."

They waited until the plane took off, and until they were at cruising altitude, to pull out the chess board and set it up on the table between them. It's something they had started doing in their downtime after Peter came back home from May's. Tony didn't let him win anymore, like he did during their first stay in Malibu, and Peter liked it better that way. He liked to believe each time he lost he was just one step closer to actually beating Tony Stark at chess.

Not during this flight, though. It wasn't the day Peter would beat Tony at chess. Not even close. He was barely even paying attention as Tony took his king.

"Do you know where it went wrong?" asked Tony, as Peter stared at the board.

They did this, too, every time. Talk out the bad moves, learn from them, and by now, Peter was sure he could beat the captain of his school's chess team. Looking at board, he had no idea where the mistakes were, and he didn't have the mindset to go back and replay his memory.

He released a breath, and let his head hit the side of the plane. "No."

"Something on your mind?" Tony shuffled some pieces around the board, sliding them back into place for round two.

"No, I don't know, maybe," said Peter. "I guess… I guess I just miss May."

It hit him at odd moments. Like grief always seemed to do, and as they left their vacation and were headed back to New York, where May was and wasn't, it hit especially hard.

"I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't – I really love living with you and Pepper, but I do miss her."

"You don't have to apologize, of course you do," said Tony. "That'd be like expecting yourself not to miss Ben or your parents."

"Yeah I know, I guess, it's just harder, when they're still alive."

"I suppose it is," said Tony, pausing for a few seconds, before swiping his arm across the table and sending the chess board, and the pieces, flying onto the floor. "Enough of that. Teach me how to video game."

Peter immediately frowned. "Please don't do this."

He sensed it was coming. Tony's intentionally uncool dad act. He claimed it was his duty to be embarrassing, now that he was a dad.

"Come on, let's play on your Nintendo Shift."

"Oh my god," said Peter, putting his head in his hands. He was just glad that this time no one was around to witness it. Peter was so close to banning Tony for decathlon mets, and was thankful for Pepper, who stopped him from showing up in a Peter Parker fan shirt he had made. Peter sat up straight and looked at Tony. "… you really wanna play?"

"Sure," said Tony. "Let's play."

Peter rolled his eyes, but smiled, as he took the Switch from his bag and set it up on the table. He slid Tony a joy con, taught him how to play Mario Karts, and destroyed him at it, until they were both too tired and had to follow Pepper's lead and sleep.

* * *

They had been home just a couple of weeks when Peter got the letter.

He walked off the elevator, and went straight to kitchen for after school snack, but stopped in his tracks when he saw Tony sitting at the kitchen table, a plain white envelope in his hands.

"Looks like she misses you, too," said Tony, as he slipped it into his hands.

Peter looked at it and flipped it over. Read the Brooklyn return address. Probably it was that same house he stayed with her and Greg in. He didn't know. He hadn't cared to learn the address the short time he lived there, or maybe he had, but just forgot.

"Maybe," said Peter, with a frown. He changed route from the fridge and headed off to his bedroom, instead, seeking some privacy.

He threw his bookbag down on the floor and laid face up on his bed. He tore the top of the envelope open his thumb, eventually tossing it aside, to get to the letter.

He read it over and over again, but still couldn't fully believe what he was reading. They were… exactly what he wanted to hear, only a few months too late to sink in and have effect.

May apologized. She took responsibility for everything that happened, even all the bullshit that was, in Peter's opinion, Greg's to take responsibility for.

She said that she missed, and she explained her side, about why she left. That it was never because she hated Spider-Man, but because she was afraid to lose the boy under the mask. Peter understood, or at least he thought he did. They had just lost Ben. She was grieving.

Still, Peter wished she would've called or written, wished he would've gotten to read her words signed with her love a long time ago.

He flipped it over to the backside, as if expecting to find something else, but there wasn't anything there. It was blank.

It wasn't enough. He wondered if it would ever be enough.

Tony knocked on the door with the back of his hand. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's good," said Peter, sitting up, letting the letter fall from his hands and float down to the floor by his bed. "When's Rhodey getting here?"

Tony and Pepper were going away for the weekend, for their actual honeymoon, and Rhodey was coming over to hang out with him. He wasn't stupid. He knew Tony had used hang out to make it sound better than you're-sixteen-but-you're-still-getting-a-babysitter, but Peter didn't actually mind.

Rhodey had promised him stories about Tony's MIT days, and Peter was eager for blackmail material.

"Uh, soon, probably." Tony eyed him suspiciously. "What are you two gonna do while we're away?"

"…nothing."

Tony narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "You know, he's the boring one, right? He's going to have you in bed by ten and eating your vegetables."

"He wouldn't betray me like that," said Peter. "Besides, I'm sixteen, I'm not afraid of vegetables."

"Uh huh. But you _are_ afraid of healthy sleeping habits."

 _Like father, like son_

The phrase almost left his mouth, but he stopped himself, and just smiled instead, watching as Tony walked out of his doorway.

The letter got kicked under his bed.

He thought about it a few times. Even thought about fishing it out and reading it again, but never for long enough to act on those thoughts, so under his bed it stayed, collecting dust.

* * *

It was months later when he thought maybe he should've read the letter a few more times.

He was in the middle of a decathlon met, just seconds away from slamming the button down and answering a question, when his eyes caught a woman sitting in the back of the auditorium.

Unmistakably, it was May. She sat alone, in the very back row, and Peter was surprised when warmth spread through his chest, when he was happy to see her there.

It was _good_ to see her there. He gave her a smile, then his eyes flicked to Tony and Pepper, before he shoved them all to the back of his mind and refocused on the met.

Once it was over, Peter rushed off stage, dodging parents and teachers in the audience, trying to get to the back of the auditorium before his aunt left. He got there just in time, just as May's fingers were gazing the door.

"May," said Peter, stopping her.

"Peter," said she back, looking around, shuffling her feet, her hand still on the door. "I'm sorry for coming, I just needed to see how – "

"No, it's okay, I mean it's great. It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too," said May, with a smile. "You were doing pretty good up there, like always."

"Thanks." An awkward silence fell, and Peter shuffled his feet too, looking around. He fiddled with Tony's watch on his wrist, like it was about to be stolen again. Tony had had to buy it back from a pawnshop in Brooklyn, after personally searching through five or six stores just to find it.

"Well I should get going." She started to open the door. "Maybe… I'll see you, at the next met?"

"Yeah… yeah I'd like that."

May nodded her head, and her smile lit up her whole face. It'd been ages since Peter had seen that exact smile. It had been since Ben died and Peter had thought they buried that along with him. But maybe they didn't. Maybe there were still parts him and the Parkers that lived on, even if Peter didn't have that same exact last name anymore.

"Okay, I'll be there."

She disappeared through the double doors, and when Peter turned, Tony and Pepper were staring, faces crinkled with concern. Peter couldn't help an eyeroll, and a laugh, as he marched towards them, to explain that they worried too much.

Peter, for one, wasn't worried.

Everything seemed a bit brighter, a bit lighter. He had a family, and his family had him, and now, he had a May, now, too. He didn't know what that meant. If their relationship would ever be anything more than seeing her in the audience at decathlon meets, but he had hope, and he had Tony's words replaying in his head over and over again, ones whispered to him that night he got drunk and almost accidently killed himself with crab melt.

It was gonna be alright. _He_ was gonna be alright.

* * *

a/n: so, listen, this was supposed to be the end bbbuuuttt my daydreams spawned up 3 more one-shots for this, so if you want this to be the end of the series, then that works but if you want to keep reading just think of them as an extended epilogue? always it'll be a minute until I post the first one so here's a sneak peak / list of what they will be 1. Peter throws a house party 2. focused on Peter and pepper 3. road trip

and also THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH, I can't believe the support this series and this section of in specific got but I love you guys so much, seriously, it has been amazing ! !


	24. all the best parties part 1

A/N: hey it's back! hoping to update again this Wednesday! thanks for reading!

* * *

All of Peter's favorite conversations started with do you remember when, and they all happened at the same place, a diner on the edge of Queens.

It had dirt smudged, checkered floor, and smelled like grease, French fries and ketchup, and it was littered with real people. The kind who yelled and shouted when they were angry, the kind who wore clothes with rips and t-shirts with stains.

More importantly, the kind who was his Aunt May.

She sat across from him, laughing, as Peter sipped his chocolate shake through a straw, and they both recounted the time Ben went to war with a mouse.

"It took him _weeks_ ," said May. Her plate was empty in front of her, and so was Peter's.

"He was so determined," said Peter. "He took a whole day off work."

"I was so angry about that." She was smiling and shaking her head. "Wasting his PTO… do you remember, he had it a little box by the time you got home from school and the two of you drove out to field and let it go."

"All that talk and he couldn't even kill it."

"Yeah," said May. She looked at Peter as her voice trailed off. "You get your kindness from him."

Peter beamed, before shifting his eyes back down at his milkshake, taking a sip, and relaxing his back against the sticky plastic booth he sat in. It was uncomfortable in a comfortable sort of way. A familiar way. A way Peter could enjoy, but never really own. Like the time he found an old Iron Man t-shirt in a box of his childhood things.

He could look at it. Smell it. Remember what it was like for Iron Man to be his hero, but not his father. Then he'd folded it up. Put it back in the box. He couldn't wear it anymore. It didn't fit.

"So, what do you have any plans for your weekend?" May asked him.

"Oh," said Peter. "No, not really."

Not really was a compromise Pepper had worked out between Peter and Tony. There was a charity gala at the end of the week that Peter didn't want to attend. There was a business trip over the weekend that demanded both Pepper and Tony to fly to Japan, and miraculously, Pepper had convinced Tony to let Peter stay at the penthouse by himself, only if he tagged along to the gala without whining about it.

A few hours of suffering among the stuffy and rich would be worth a weekend on his own.

"What about you?"

"Not much," answered May.

Peter wondered what her not much translated into. May adjusted the bracelets covering her wrist.

Whatever it meant, she didn't sound very excited about it, but Peter didn't press. Just like she hadn't pressed him, and anyway, it was just as well. Peter didn't like hearing about Greg, who was, unfortunately, still part of her life somehow, and he didn't particularly want to share details of his life with her.

These trips to the diner were strictly trips to past. Short visits. Long enough to be comforted by something familiar, but never long enough to hurt.

"Oh," said May, her eyes narrowed in on him. "You just… have something…" She looked down at her shirt, causing Peter to look down at his own hoodie and seeing a dark spot where he must've flung some of his chocolate shake onto it. May chuckled. "Still messy I see."

"Yeah, yeah that's me," said Peter, reaching across the table and accepting a wad of napkins from her.

Peter was dabbing his hoodie with the napkins when the flash of a camera stopped him cold. It was instant dread and frustration. When he jerked his head to the left and stared out the window, he was able to connect that flash with a person and all his bad feelings were validated.

He'd been a Stark long enough to spot paparazzi even if it was just one lonely guy with his phone, taking pictures of him while he was simply having his and May's ritual post decathlon met snack.

"Shit," said Peter, dropping his head. "There's always someone trying to take my picture."

May looked around, trying to find the offender, then finally, returned her eyes back to Peter, filled with nothing but sympathy.

"You're a Stark now," she said, in a gentle voice.

He didn't need any more reminders. Every day he was reminded in a new way, and sure, he'd been prepared for it, even before the adoption was official, but the diner was his safe haven, or at least, that was what he thought before now.

"I… I should get going," said Peter, shifting around in his seat, then eventually, sliding out from the booth. "Are… are we gonna meet up again? Next time?"

May smiled at him from her seat. "Of course, next time."

Peter nodded his head, then left the diner.

He put his hood up, shoved his hands in his pockets, and started his walk to the subway, wishing he'd get lost in the crowd, wishing May would keep her promises to show up at all his decathlon meets and their ritual snack afterwards.

Most of all, Peter hoped Tony wouldn't get weird when he found out he was visiting with May again.

* * *

"We're still on for this weekend, right?"

"Yes, Ned," answered Peter, without looking up. His voice was robotic, and his hand scratching his pencil furiously across the worksheet in front of him.

His lunch went ignored, pushed into the center of the table and forgotten as raced to get his weekend homework completed before he ever stepped foot in his home. It was _because_ his and Ned's plans were still plans he was rushing through trigonometry.

Being left at home, alone, for the weekend, was an exercise in freedom Peter was completely ready for, and he didn't want to waste a second of it doing something like homework.

"I figured he'd change his mind," said Ned, after taking a sip from his milk. Two seats over from him, Michelle turned the page of the book she read.

"Yeah, me too," said Peter. He owed Pepper for that one, for convincing Tony to leave the country without him.

"Stark."

The realization that it was Peter's name that was being shouted hit him slow, and when it did, his head snapped up and around at the table next to his. It was Flash who demanded his attention, calling him by his new name, as always, like it was some kind of taunt.

"What's your bodyguard doing here?"

Peter followed Flash's gaze, and to absolute horror, saw Happy Hogan striding across the cafeteria, heading straight for Peter and his friends.

"He's not my bodyguard," said Peter. He didn't even know why he was still talking. He wanted to be a puddle on the floor.

Flash gave him a look. Peter looked at Ned or MJ for support.

MJ shrugged. "If the suit fits."

"Dude," said Ned. "Tony literally said he was your bodyguard before."

Before Peter could remind Ned who's side he was supposed to be on, Happy was dangerously close and not stopping his advance. He took a breath, then stood up to meet him, trying not to focus on the way he seemingly had the entire cafeteria's attention.

"Happy," said Peter, ignoring the way his voice squeaked, at the way he sounded out of breath besides just being sat down. "What are you – what're doing here?"

"Oh, I had a security conference with some of the staff – "

"-wait, what?"

"Don't give me that look," said Happy. He pointed a finger at him and waved it around. "You'll be happy they're trained if you have an incident with the paparazzi."

Peter blinked at him, then lowered his voice and gritted his teeth. "Do you have to be here, though? At my school? In the cafeteria?"

"Yeah," said Happy. "I'm picking you up. Grab your things. Let's go."

Peter nodded to his lunch tray. "It's only lunch."

"I see that. Boss's orders. He's pulling you from school early today."

"Why?"

As soon as he asked the question, he wished he didn't. He rather Happy not explain to him, in front of his friends and classmates, whatever reason Tony had for making him leave school early. Peter swallowed. Apparently, Happy had some self-awareness, after all.

"I'm sure he'll explain when you get there," said Happy. "Get your stuff."

With slumped shoulders, Peter shoved his books and worksheets in his bag, mumbled goodbyes to Ned and MJ, and, on his way out, dumped his lunch in the trash can, wishing, just for once in his new life, that all eyes weren't on him.

Happy pulled the car up and parked in front of a brick building. A huge digital hung above the door, lit up with lights that spelled the name of the arcade.

Dread and bad feelings twisted in Peter's stomach when he read it.

Something was wrong.

Nothing peaked Peter's suspicion like Tony's sudden and immediate attention, like being pulled out of school in the middle of the day and taken to an arcade. Tony knew him too well. Arcades were bribes, and that made Peter's mind reel with possibilities about what could be wrong, until Happy opened the door and broke him out of his anxieties, shooed him out of the car.

Peter followed Happy into the building, where it was dark, save the lights from the game machines flashing all around the room. They went up a black and metal spiral staircase, and found Tony sitting in a corner booth, sipping a glass of iced water.

Tony and Happy exchanged words Peter didn't pay attention to. He gripped the straps of his bookbag and looked around instead.

They were in upscale arcade. A more mature version of the type of places Peter liked to go and spend a few hours with Ned. There was a bar and a dance floor and an unmanned turn table off in a corner.

Happy told them both goodbye with the nod of his head, then disappeared down the staircase, leaving Peter and Tony alone.

"How was school?" asked Tony, as he stretched his arm over the booth.

Peter sat down quickly, on the edge of the seat, and shoved his bookbag on the table. "What's going on? You're not going to make me come with you to Japan, are you? You're not changing your mind?"

He pressed Tony with a look that was so often used against him. A truth finding look. Peter tried to find the true somewhere in Tony's eyes, but couldn't. Even when Tony wasn't wearing sunglasses, he wore sunglasses.

"No, I'm not," said Tony, with a frown. "As for your first question, I thought you might be able to tell me."

Peter paused and racked his brain and panicked, thinking about anything and everything he could have done as Spider-Man to warrant a conversation worthy of getting pulled out of school for.

Tony let out a breath and pulled his cellphone out of his suit's pocket. He pushed his thumb against the screen a few times, then he scrolled a little bit, before holding it out for Peter to see.

It was a picture of him and May, at the diner in Queens, on some gossip website. There was a bullshit headline under it.

PETER STARK SEEN WITH MYSTERY WOMAN

LEARN ABOUT THE WOMAN WHO GAVE UP HER NEPHEW FOR WEALTH

"Great," said Peter, letting his back hit the seat. "Now they're going after her."

"You didn't tell me," said Tony. "You didn't say anything about meeting up with her."

"You knew she was coming to my meets," offered Peter. Even he knew the excuse was weak. "I – I didn't think it was a big deal."

"If you thought it wasn't a big deal, you would have talked to me about it," said Tony. "I thought we were past this. The secrets."

And Peter had thought all the helicoptering, all the excessive worrying, were over too. Somewhere, somehow, they both went back to old habits, as if Peter's brief stay in May and Greg's nightmare house, the adoption, and the gossip websites hounding them had all worked together and forced them both in safe behaviors.

One step forward, two steps back. Peter knew it was the case, but also, he'd forgotten how much he loved his secrets.

"I guess I just didn't want you to get weird about it."

"Of course I'm gonna get weird about it," said Tony, raising his voice slightly louder. "Last time she was in your life- "

"I remember, okay? I don't need a recap."

"Okay," he said, in a softer voice, losing the edge it had just a moment before. Peter looked down at the table and stabbed his bookbag with finger. "I just don't really think you should be spending time with her."

Peter snapped his head and narrowed his eyes at Tony. His words had been phrased as a suggestion, but the order behind them was clear.

"What? Why?"

"I thought you didn't need a recap."

"So I'm never allowed to see my aunt again?"

"I didn't say that," said Tony. The conversation paused. Down below, one of the arcade games made the jackpot sound effect. Someone was cheering. Congratulations to them, Peter guessed. At least someone was having a good time. "We should put this conversation on pause. Until Pep and I get back. Then we can discuss it."

Peter didn't think there was anything to discuss it, didn't see why it was such a huge deal. He knew what had happened last time. He had been there. It had happened to him, not Tony, and while it still hurt to think about, Pepper had been right when she had told him it was okay to forgive.

He could forgive her, and have post-meet snacks with her, and remember Ben with her, without letting her resume the motherly role she once held in his life.

That, Peter knew, without a doubt, was dead and gone.

"Enough talking," said Tony. He sat up a little straighter and tried to erase the worry from his face. "I thought we might have some fun, hang out a little bit, before I'm off in Japan with boring business folk."

Peter forced a laugh, forced himself away from the conversation when he really wanted to keep pressing against the issue. "You're only going to be away for a couple of days."

"And you're gonna miss me the entire time," Tony told him. "I know I'm gonna miss you. Those corporate types, stiff as boards."

Peter laughed and continued smiling, only letting the act drop when Tony looked away. He wondered if miss was a code word for worry. He wondered if Tony regretted letting Pepper talk him into leaving him alone for the weekend. He wondered these things, quietly, but didn't say anything out loud.

He didn't bring May back up, because even though he wanted to, he didn't want to argue with Tony. Not a day before he flew out of the country, and certainly not hours before being stuck at a boring charity gala.

Those sucked even when Peter was in the best mood.

"So, how about it? Ready to lose to your old man before I have to go off and do boring grownup stuff?"

"I'm almost grown, you know," said Peter. A genuine smile forming. Peter knew that Tony knew he wouldn't be able to say no to arcade games, and he also knew that Tony knew he'd never be able to win against him.

"I'll believe it when you stop wearing Iron Man pajamas."

"That was one time!" Peter shouted after him, as Tony slid out of the booth. "And only cause I lost that bet."

"Yeah, sure."

Peter grumbled as he stood up and followed after Tony as he walked towards one of the old school games. A determination to win overtook him. As the afternoon passed by, he forgot all about May and the media and the weight of Tony's worry. They had fun, and for first time in the past couple of months, in that dark arcade, he wasn't in the spotlight.

* * *

All of Peter's least favorite conversations started with fake pleasantries, awkwardly muttered out with Tony's hand on his shoulder, as he got shuffled around the museum's ballroom and introduced to random rich and influential people.

The kind of people who wore dresses that sparkled and shoes that shined. The kind of people who smiled daggers and whispered what they really thought only once he walked away.

Even without his sensitive hearing, Peter would be able to hear them. Their whispering was loud, because it was the kind of whispering that was meant to be heard.

Peter wasn't cut out to be a Stark, they said. What was Tony thinking, they wondered, adopting a teenager from Queens and giving him his last name and making him an heir to an empire. It hadn't hit him, until that moment, hearing it in hushed tones between sips of champagne, that that was exactly what Peter was.

An heir to an empire. A prince to a throne.

His life would never be normal, at least what he thought of as normal, again. The media, the attention, the spotlight, they were all there to stay.

Peter was choking. Drowning in a sea of people, where he was just an imposter, one that was stuck and could never truly leave.

"You okay?" Tony nudged his arm with his elbow.

"Y-yeah," said Peter. "I just need – I'm gonna go get some water."

He darted away from Tony before he could be introduced to anymore of the fake and the sparkly.

Peter stepped out of the maze of bodies and out to the side, politely smiling at one of the waiters as he took a champagne glass filled with water from the tray he carried. He took a breath, then a sip and closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, he'd be back in his bedroom at the penthouse, safe and unseen.

"You're going to need something stronger than water to deal with all this, Stark."

Peter blinked his eyes open. There was a black-haired boy slouching against the wall next to where Peter stood. He had his hands in his pockets and his head tilted towards the ceiling.

"Not even the hosts can get through these sober," he told him. When Peter only blinked at him again, not offering a response, he shrugged away from the wall and extended his hand. "Harry Osborn."

Peter accepted the handshake. "Osborn, like – "

"-Oscorp, yeah," said Harry, voice dripping with contempt. "That isn't important, though."

Peter quietly disagreed. Without Norman Osborn and his shady research into cross genetics, there'd be no Spider-Man. On second thought, maybe it was a positive thing to move the conversation away from Oscorp.

"What _is_ important is that I can help you with your problem."

Peter squinted. "My problem?"

"Your sobriety problem," Harry elaborated. He stuck his hand out casually and grabbed a glass of champagne from a waiter as one walked by. "And your lack of directional skills. Clearly you're lost if you're hanging around these relics."

"They're not so old," said Peter, offended on Tony and Pepper's behalf.

"They're dust. Now come on, Stark, hurry up."

Before Peter could ask any questions about where they were hurrying to, Harry had his back turned and was walking off, expecting to be followed. Peter looked back in the crowd. Tony and Pepper were mid-conversation with someone who he'd been introduced to earlier in the evening but didn't remember.

All those introductions had bled together, had melted into one, awkward memory Peter was happy to avoid, even if it meant following Harry Osborn out of the ballroom and down a lonely corridor.

Peter was pretty sure they weren't meant to be there, but Harry didn't seem to be bothered by it, so he pretended he wasn't either.

They didn't stop walking until they came to a much smaller room, an exhibit with a few pieces of art on the wall and a few couches, which were surrounded by other teenagers that looked around Peter's age.

They wore sparkly jewelry and glittering dresses and fancy suits. Peter wondered if they felt like an imposter in their dress clothes, too, but he didn't have to think about it very hard. Of course they didn't. They didn't hail from Queens. Most of them probably had never stepped one toe in that direction in the span of their entire lives.

They all held champagne glasses in their hands, with the exception of one boy, who held a cigar between his teeth.

On the floor, near them, there were decks of cards and scattered poker chips, and bottles of alcohol sitting in round containers of ice.

Peter stared at them, and they stared back, looking very much like they had been waiting for him, and now that he was there, expected something from him.

Harry pressed the stolen glass of champagne into Peter's hand, and he accepted it.

"First rule about galas," said Harry. "The private parties are always better."

Harry strutted past him and went to join his friends, leaving Peter standing in the threshold alone, swishing the liquid around inside the glass.

Peter supposed he didn't really have a choice, or much of one, if it was between staying here, in a dimly lit room with just a few people his own age, or going back out there, where it was packed with adults gossiping about him like they were still in middle school.

He took a breath, then a sip of champagne, before joining the real party.

* * *

A persistent, irritating shake on his shoulder slowly pulled Peter out from his dream, but even after he was awake, he kept his eyes shut.

There was an ache behind them, somewhere. Too much champagne, and Peter couldn't be sure without checking the time on his phone, but it seemed obvious by the darkness of his bedroom that it was too early to be awake on a Saturday morning.

"Kid, we're about to head out," said Tony, in a low voice, as he squeezed his shoulder.

Peter blinked his eyes open, and slowly forced himself to sit up. Tony hovered over one side of his bed, and Pepper stood on the other.

"Don't go throwing any parties while we're away."

Pepper laughed. "He's not you, Tony."

It was obvious, even without Pepper pointing it out. Peter wasn't Tony. Not even close. All the whisperers at the gala had been quick in pointing that out.

"We'll see you Monday after school," said Pepper, before kissing him on the forehead. "Enjoy your freedom."

"And don't burn my penthouse down," Tony told him, as he and Pepper sandwiched him into a hug. "Love you, Pete."

"Love you too," said Peter.

Tony gave him a smile, and ruffled his hair, before him and Pepper left his room. Peter listened to their heartbeats and their footsteps all the way up until they stepped out of the building and onto the streets below.

Once they were gone, and out of his earshot, he sunk back down into his pillows and pulled his comforter over his head. Freedom and independence could wait until the sun came up.


	25. all the best parties part 2

Peter didn't know what he was doing, exactly.

His hands were flying through his desk drawer, flipping through stacks of paper, but it was as if he was really hovering somewhere in the air, watching himself, silently judging himself for the stupid as hell decision he was in the process of making.

He slammed the drawer shut once it was clear his passport wasn't there, nearly losing his balance and toppling down into the carpet as he did. He straightened out, took a breath, and tried to make sense of his scrambled, racing thoughts.

That was just his life post adoption.

There was no anchor for his thoughts. Nowhere solid to stand. Nothing was certain, and it was as if he was constantly having to regain his footing and straighten himself out before he fell flat on his face in front of all the sharks with cameras, really giving a reason for Tony and Pepper's high society frenemies to talk about him.

"Friday," said Peter, finally. His last, and risky, resort. He was ninety-five percent sure he'd get caught anyway, so he might as well be honest with the AI.

"Yes Peter."

"Uh," he said. "Do you know where my passport is?"

"Boss stores your passport in the safe located in his home office," said Friday. "Should I alert him that you're looking for it?"

"NO!" yelled Peter, then quieted his voice. "I mean, no, that's not necessary, thanks Fri."

"Would you like me to open the safe for you?"

"You can do that?"

"Of course I can, Peter," said Friday. "You're one of four people with access to the family vault."

"Oh," said Peter. He shoved the guilt bubbling up in his stomach down deep. "Then, yes, please. Open it."

"Very well."

Peter paused, wondering if it were safe to ask Friday not to repeat it to Tony that he was taking his passport, or if that phrase in particular might set off some sort of alarm and alert him anyway. He decided against it as he marched off towards Tony's office, only to pause again once he opened the door.

It felt wrong, like an invasion of privacy, coming in here when Tony was in a whole other country. Peter walked inside anyway. Tony, Peter was learning from all the media attention, was probably used to having his privacy violated. Peter had only been a Stark for a couple of months, and he was getting used to it, too.

"This is so wrong, this is so wrong," Peter repeated, under his breath, as he crossed the office and collapsed down to his knees in front of the safe.

Just as Friday had said, it was popped open. He pulled open the lid of the rest of the way and saw his passport sitting up on top, ready to go. He stared at it, but still had no clue as to what he was actually doing or why he was doing it.

There were only a few things Peter knew and understood leading up to this moment.

He knew Ned cancelled their plans to hang out all day at the penthouse. He'd gotten the stomach flu, and while Peter had been sipping champagne with Harry Osborn and his friends, he'd been face first in the toilet, throwing up.

He knew couldn't spend the weekend alone in the penthouse, even with the prospect of unlimited and unmonitored time patrolling as Spider-Man. It'd be too empty, too lonely.

He knew Harry had called just minutes after Ned told him the bad news, asking him if he'd wanted to hang out. Peter had almost suggested they go to the arcade Tony had taken him too the day before, but the idea died before it had ever left his tongue. Something about it seemed childish in a way that Harry wasn't, in a way Peter was beginning to think he should adopt.

"Tony and Pepper are out of the country," Peter had offered, shakily. "I can have some people over."

"No offense, Pete," Harry had told him. "But house parties got a little played out and boring back in middle school."

"Oh." Peter was very happy he hadn't mentioned the arcade.

"I think I know the perfect place though. Got a passport, don't you?"

Peter blinked away the memory and shook the echoes of Harry's voice out of his head. His fingers closed around his passport, and he left Tony's office, with a feeling of dread, with a knowledge that he'd almost certainly regret this.

Or maybe he wouldn't.

It wasn't really a big deal, and yeah, there was no way he'd leave the country on the Osborn family jet without Tony finding out about it, but Peter wasn't sure that he cared if he found out, wasn't sure Tony or Pepper would even care when they did find out.

This was the world they lived in, the world they put Peter into when he became a Stark. It wasn't a big deal. Not really. He repeated the mantra to himself over and over again as he packed bag and called an uber.

* * *

Harry popped the cork off a champagne bottle, and Peter watched the fine, white mist escape and hover around the rim. He locked his hand around the end of the arm wrist, trying to focus on the music playing instead of the fact they were already at cruising altitude and barreling through the clouds towards a country that wasn't their own.

It wasn't foreign countries that made Peter nervous, though, it was the jet. He'd never been on one that wasn't Stark Industries, and he'd never been that far away from home without Tony or Pepper or May.

"So, Stark," said Emmy, one of Harry's friends, and Peter guessed, after this trip, one of his friends, too. She sat on the couch across from the one Peter sat on. Harry handed her a glass of champagne. "What's the story with you?"

"What she means is," said Andrew. He sat next to her, looking relaxed and bored, as if this were just a normal weekend getaway, as if they did this all the time. "Are the stories true? Did your aunt really sell you to Tony Stark for three million dollars and an apartment in Brooklyn?"

"Don't be idiotic, Drew," said Charlotte, cutting in, and walking over from the other side of the jet. "Why would Tony Stark pay for a teenager from Queens?"

"Because he's a super genius, that's why. Didn't you read the article?"

"No I try not to read garbage."

"Enough of that," said Harry. He handed Peter a glass of champagne and Peter accepted it, just as he had the night before. "It's boring me."

Harry sat down next to Peter and watched the bubbles dance and pop in his glass, while the others continued staring at Peter. Despite Harry's wish to move away from that particular conversation, it was clear that wouldn't be happening.

"She didn't get paid," said Peter. "She just gave me up."

The jet went quiet, besides the music playing through the speakers. His new circle of peers all seemed a little stunned, and at first, Peter didn't understand why. That was his reality, had been his reality for a long time, a long enough time for him to have accepted it as normal, no matter how painful it'd been.

"It's really okay," added Peter, quickly. "I mean, it happened a while ago."

Still, everyone stayed silent, until Emmy tipped the glass of champagne into the air, chugging every last drop. She let the empty glass fall to the floor.

"I wish my mother would give me up," she said.

"Really, Petey." Harry looked at him. "You're in the right place."

"True," said Charlotte. "We're like the lost kids of the upper east side, or at least, our parents wish we'd get lost."

"Until the cameras come around," said Harry.

"I'll toast to that," said Emmy. She stood up, already wobbly on her legs, stumbled over to the fridge and pulled out a few cans of beer.

Peter took a long sip of his champagne, feeling like he needed to catch up with the others, who were already almost done with their first drinks. Despite what Harry said about him being in the right place, Peter wasn't so sure. He didn't feel lost. He had, a long time ago, but lost wasn't quite where he was anymore.

Maybe confused, uncertain. Maybe still grieving that his life was forever changed, maybe still grappling that he now had a few things in common with a jet filled with bored, rich kids.

He wondered if this was what Tony's life was like when he was young. He'd heard the stories from Rhodey, and he wondered if that's what everyone expected him to be. A Tony 2.0, or another Harry Osborn, disinterested and happy to drown out the dull with one glass of alcohol after another.

Peter drained his glass and the jet blurred as he looked around. He didn't belong here, not really.

He wasn't some lost kid of the upper east side. Tony and Pepper didn't want him gone. May had, but he'd found since then. At the same time, he wasn't a nobody from Queens. Not anymore. He was Peter Stark, once Parker, who belonged nowhere, or at least so it seemed.

Still, he thought, as he cracked open a can of beer Emmy had tossed to him, one he'd accepted with a quiet smile, he could pretend. Better to be an imposter than to not have a place at all.

"It really bothers you," said Harry. "I can tell."

Peter's eyes were closed under his sunglasses. He even didn't have a guess as to what Harry was talking about.

They had been on the island for a couple of hours. Just long enough to ditch their bags in a resort room suite and stumble outside to the pool, where Peter and Harry found lounge chairs and the others found the diving board.

He ignored Harry and reached his hand out for the tall glass on the table between their two chairs. He sipped, through a straw, a drink that tasted both like a chocolate-banana milkshake and rum. Harry had called it an ugly monkey. He'd ordered one for each of them.

Peter didn't really care what it was called or what it tasted like. It was doing exactly what it was meant to be doing, keeping his buzz alive. He was hovering somewhere between drunk enough not to think so hard, but not drunk enough to be sick.

He wondered, idly, if this was the sort of drunk Tony had once referred to as the fun the kind. Tony would be proud. Tony was somewhere in Japan, somewhere stuck in some boring meeting, and he'd be proud Peter was living it up for the both of them.

That's what he told himself, anyway.

"The press and all those nonsense articles," said Harry, elaborating. "They really bother you."

"Hmmm," said Peter, too relaxed to even want to talk. "Are you a therapist now?"

"Might as well be."

Over in the pool, he heard Emmy and the others laughing and splashing each other, reminding Peter of the time he skipped out on swimming with friends in favor of trying to prove himself as Spider-Man. Yeah, Tony would be proud.

"Listen," said Harry. "They're always going to be talking about you now. If you don't want them putting out articles about your aunt, you have to do something to distract them from it. Get them talking about something different.

"Like this?"

"Dude. This is nothing. Not enough to make the tabloids at least. You'll need something a little bigger."

A house party in Iron Man's penthouse might have done it, Peter thought, mournfully, wishing now that they'd stuck around in New York, where being followed by cameras was getting just as common as breathing. Then again, maybe he didn't. The sun was warmer where they were. There was a light breeze and comfortable chairs and Peter didn't think he'd ever get up.

He did though, eventually, when they all decided they'd had enough of the pool and the sun, and headed back up to the suite, where the party continued.

Peter wasn't sure how long they were there. He was beginning to lose all concept of time, his world was getting fuzzier, with each and every drink, and his stomach felt queasy, like he was crossing over from the fun kind of drunk into the miserable kind.

Peter was laid out on the couch, head turned towards the ceiling, with an empty bottle of he didn't remember what hanging out of his hand. Music was playing, but it seemed to stop when the door to the suite flew open with a blast. Peter sat up slow, blinked. The smoke cleared, and after it did, Iron Man's armor became visible.

He stepped into the suite with an audible clank. Peter, and his new friends, froze in place, watching Iron Man watch them. Harry paused the music. It seemed like an hours before Tony let down his faceplate, revealing a tight jaw and narrow eyes that landed directly on Peter.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," said Tony. His voice didn't sound very proud.

"H-hi Tony," said Peter.

"Oh hey, Pete, having fun?"

"Umm, yeah actually." He paused. He wasn't really having fun anymore. Fun left when Iron Man arrived. His eye trailed over a coffee table near him and spotting, for the first time, a bag of weed on the table. "That isn't mine."

Peter watched in horror as Tony surveyed the scene. His eyes went to the bag of weed, the empty bottles laying all about, to Harry Osborn, who still looked rather relaxed and bored by the entire situation, then finally back at Peter.

"I would have preferred you throwing a house party," Tony told him.

"You know me," said Peter, although he pleaded with himself to remain silent. "Above and beyond."

So, Tony was pissed.

Any trace of pride he might have had about Peter doing normal kid stuff instead of dangerous superhero stuff was overshadowed by his anger, made obvious by the way he pulled him up off the couch, the way his entire metal hand locked around his arm as he helped him towards the hole Iron Man blasted into the suite's wall, and by the way he shouted a threating promise to all Peter's new friends that he'd be calling their parents.

"It won't matter," said Peter, as Tony continued tugging him towards the elevator, and as he tried to ignore the way his stomach revolted and his head spun at the fast motion. "They're lost."

Tony made a confused face but didn't ask any questions, and for that, Peter was thankful. He didn't know he was capable of standing in elevator and talking at the same time. Not without losing whatever food he'd eaten that day. He couldn't remember, but he supposed he'd find out if it came back up before they reached the car Tony had called for them.

They were outside, standing on the sidewalk and about to get into the car, when Peter dropped to his knees and threw up all over the resort's front entrance. Tony's hand stayed on his shoulder until he finished, until he realized it was tacos and he'd never be eating those again.

"You done?"

All Peter could do was nod his head.

Tony helped him into the backseat of the car, and in a few seconds, joined him on the other side. Silence settled over the car as the driver pulled out from the resort's parking lot. Peter couldn't take it.

"'m sorry," he said.

Tony didn't look at him. He kept his hard gaze looking out the window and only grunted in response.

Peter let his head fall back against the leather seat. He was done for. His game was over, his lights were out. He shut his eyes, and wished he was somewhere else, anywhere else, than in the backseat with an angry Tony Stark still wearing his Iron Man armor.


End file.
